Potential
by Rosmarina
Summary: Edward Cullen, journalist for the college paper, has despised jocks since high school. What happens when he’s assigned to interview Emmett McCarty, a decathlon athlete who challenges Edward’s every stereotype? Rate M for language, slash & graphic lemons.
1. Potential

_**SLASH BACKSLASH ONE-SHOT CONTEST**_

**Story Name: Potential**

**Pen name: Rosmarina**

**Pairing: Edward/Emmett**

**Disclaimer:**** SM owns**** Twilight. I just like to play in her sandbox. **

**Rated: M for slash and citrus**

**To see other entries in the "SLASH BACKSLASH" contest, please visit the C2:****http :// www. fanfiction. net/c2/74941/3/0/1/**

**Potential**

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"May you live in interesting times," Alice intoned. "Man, I always get that one!"

"In bed," I reminded her saucily.

"Speaking of which… Jasper's coming over tonight," she giggled. "Read yours!"

"You are about to embark on a fabulous adventure." I paused for a beat then added, "In bed."

"Well, you are going on a trip tomorrow!" Alice squealed excitedly. "And it's been way too long since you had a man in your bed, mister."

The reminder that I hadn't had any dates since Peter left stung a little. "I hardly think that will be a fabulous adventure, little sis," I scoffed. I still couldn't believe my editor Kate had assigned me a sports article. I wrote music reviews and covered the local music scene. I had my own column on political activism on campus. I was a _journalist_. I did not write for the fucking _sports section._

"Hmm, something just tells me that this trip is going to be good for you," she replied. "You know, something different, maybe shake you out of your lonely funk."

We cleared up together, leaving our fortunes on the table. _Maybe._

~oOo~

At five-thirty am the next morning I hoofed it the half-dozen blocks towards campus, messenger bag slung across my shoulders and small overnight bag rolling along behind me, to meet my ride and the subject of my interview. It was too damn early and I couldn't wait for a cup of coffee. I was really hoping to get there first and have a few minutes of just me and my caffeine before I had to deal with Emmett McCarty, _incredible hulk_, for the next 36 hours. This was going to be one long-ass weekend.

As I got closer to the Sureshot I was dismayed to realize that Emmett had already arrived. I knew him from the track team group photo that Kate had handed me the day she gave me this assignment. The way he was leaning self-assuredly against the wall outside the front door with his ankles crossed languidly in front of him just reinforced my impression of his cockiness. I bit the inside of my cheek trying to school the scowl building on my face. I stopped in front of him and introduced myself.

"Emmett McCarty, right? I'm Edward Cullen from the UW Daily." I offered my hand secretly hoping he wouldn't crush it some caveman grip of dominance. I found a to-go cup in my hand instead.

"Mornin' bro! I got us some java for the road." I stared in surprise at the massive man in front of me.

"Americanas. Hope that's ok. I have a bit of a sweet tooth myself and I tell ya the chai smells fan-fuckin-tastic this morning but I gotta watch the sugar before a meet." He punctuated the statement with two slaps to his stomach with his free hand.

"Uh… yeah… fine. Um, thanks," I stuttered. He had clear blue eyes, a mop of curly black hair, and a charming dimple on each side of his enormous grin that was pretty charismatic when it was aimed in my direction. _Too bad I sounded like a moron._

Emmett's empty hand clamped down on my shoulder and he began to guide me down the Ave. "I'm parked just over there," he said, nodding his head towards an old, though shiny, Chevy SUV. "You know, you look different in your picture," he announced, squinting at me.

"Wait, what? When did _you_ see a picture of _me_?"

"In The Daily. You know that little square one next to your column. You don't wear nerdy glasses in that picture," he teased.

I stared at him in surprise for the second time in as many minutes. "You read my column?"

"Yeah, man," he shrugged and left me standing in front of the passenger door of his ride. "Hop in."

~oOo~

Ten minutes later we had cleared the city and we were cruising south on I-5 towards Portland. I dug through my messenger bag for my mini-recorder, notepad and a pen with one hand while sipping my coffee. _Damn, that's good coffee_. I had a few questions already prepared but I also understood the art of observation, of sniffing out the scoop. Glancing covertly at Emmett's bulky frame I reminded myself to be on the lookout for signs of steroid use. He was enormous but it was obviously all muscle. That would net me a juicy story though I really hated to resort to that kind of angle in my reporting. But what else of interest would an ego-driven jock have to offer that was newsworthy?

Emmett had offered to drive separately from the team so that we could have the two and a half hour drive time to Portland for the interview. I guessed now was as good a time as any to start. _Let the boredom begin._

"So, Emmett," I cleared my throat and pressed the record button on my device. "Why the decathlon?"

Emmett chuckled and scratched his head. "Well," he started, "I guess you already know that decathlon is ten separate track and field events performed by one athlete over a two-day period." He glanced over at me and I nodded. "Decathlon is considered the ultimate test for an individual athlete. It requires one person to master their personal potential for power, endurance, strength, agility and speed more than any other sport."

I rolled my eyes when he wasn't looking. _Here comes the ego; that didn't take long._

"You're obviously in amazing physical condition. On the road to Emmett McCarty, World's Greatest Athlete, I take it?" I nudged his ego and mentioned the title bestowed on Olympic gold medal decathlon champions hoping to bait him. _That's right, I've done my research_, I smirked.

"Yeah, uh, not so much. I'm not in it for a title, man," he disagreed. "You'll see when you meet the decathlon guys from the other schools. There are so few of us we go pretty much unnoticed most of the time. It doesn't really feel like we're competing against each other, you know? Despite being from different schools, it's kinda like we're all on the same team, just guys trying to improve ourselves, to beat our own records." He looked across at me, gauging my reaction.

His face was open with honesty and I wasn't sure what to think about his answer. It didn't seem to be rehearsed or a bullshit answer intended to make a good quote for the paper. In fact, it sounded pretty damn close to the philosophy I applied to my writing: I edited and polished each piece until it was the best I could get it and with each assignment I strove to be a better writer than before. My curiosity was piqued. I shifted in my seat to get a better look at his face while he spoke.

He must have noticed the slight shift in my body language because I saw the hint of a smirk appear on his own face. "So, Edward," he cleared his throat, mimicking me. "You noticed my amazing physical condition, did you?"

"Don't be an ass!" I shot back, sounding as affronted as I felt.

"Now you wanna talk about my ass?" he chortled.

I huffed in frustration, muttering and calling him childish under my breath, just loudly enough to be sure that he could hear me. The smirk stayed on his face so I turned on the radio hoping to distract him from further innuendo about my sexuality.

_It fucking figures_. I scowled out the window remembering the ridicule and bullying I experienced at the hands of Royce King, captain of my high school's football team. _Fucking Royce._

I was pissed now. Maybe I'd find my angle after all. I pictured _Decathlon Athlete Homophobic_ in big letters across the top of the sports page. I was trying to think of a clever way to lead that line of questioning when Emmett spoke up first.

"Relax Edward, please. It was just a joke." He cleared his throat again though this time he seemed nervous rather than smug. "I just get, um, a little nervous when people talk about what a big guy I am. Like I'm just this body, you know? I just wanted to blow off your comment with a little humor. I didn't intend for you to take it personally." If his admission to me was unexpected, I was equally unprepared when he reached over to squeeze my shoulder. His touch lasted a beat longer than seemed appropriate for a simple friendly gesture and when his fingers brushed gently across my arm, I felt a pinprick of heat in my cheeks.

"It's fine, whatever." I turned away to stare out the window again wondering why my traitor body had responded to the touch of his hand on my arm. I wasn't into the whole macho muscle-man bear scene. Peter's figure had resembled my own, tall, slim, in shape but not overly muscled and certainly no brainless jock. I fell somewhere between stud and twink on the gay spectrum and so did most of the men that I found attractive. I didn't understand why that brief touch was taking up so much space in my brain and there was something I needed to know _right the hell now_.

"So what is your stance on homosexuality in athletics?" I challenged.

"What the hell does someone's sexuality have to do with their participation in a sport?" Emmett asked incredulously in return.

I paused, staring him down.

"Nothing in _my_ mind, but not everyone would agree with that statement. Especially in the…" I shook my head with a grimace. My mind flashed painfully back to high school again, thinking over the many indignities I'd both witnessed and suffered.

"In the what…?" he prompted.

"Locker rooms," I bit out tersely.

Emmett's head whipped around in my direction and he spent a moment studying my face before answering. I was frowning at him but I met his gaze fiercely. I don't know what he saw when he looked at me but I saw confusion then understanding cross his features. He took a breath, considering his response.

"A good coach makes sure an athlete learns that everyone deserves respectful treatment, on and off the field." A little more vehemently he continued, "Being an athlete, being physically strong, is no excuse for being a goddamn bully. A good coach nips that shit in the bud."

I didn't know what to say to that at first. With chagrin I realized how limiting my assumptions of him had been, perhaps were still. That wasn't the kind of reporter I wanted to be.

_And it's damn sure not the kind of person I want to be, either._

Finally I settled on something to say. "I think you'd make a good coach, Emmett." His eyes twinkled as he flashed a huge grin in my direction, the air between us clear.

~oOo~

We drove for a while without much to say, just listening to the radio. I felt grateful that Emmett and I could agree on road music, settling on a Seattle-based alternative rock station. At the ad break I turned the volume down and began digging into Emmett's background.

He told me about growing up in Tennessee, what he liked about living in the Northwest since coming to UW, and how good the hiking and rock-climbing were both here and at home. He regaled me with stories about going to car shows with his dad, praised his mom's home-cooking and joked about goofing off with his kid sister Nessie. The stories he shared reeled me in little by little and eventually I realized that for each memory he recounted he had somehow lured me into sharing something of myself as well. I'd never done so much of the talking during an interview before.

Emmett was an open book and even though he was ostensibly the subject of the interview, and therefore the conversation, I couldn't help but observe how unassuming and self-effacing he was. Just as he was admitting how much he missed his sister since leaving home, he changed subjects abruptly.

"Damn, the oil light is on again."

I glanced out the window for what seemed like the first time in ages. We'd been driving for a while and seemed to be in a pretty rural stretch of I-5 which meant we were likely about half-way to Portland. I pointed out a sign for Food & Gas at the next exit. We parked at a gas station and looked at the engine. There was some oil seeping out from the gaskets.

"I just replaced these things again last month!"

"Do we have time to let the engine cool down before you check the oil?" I asked him.

Emmett checked his watch. "Yeah. Wanna get something to eat?" He nodded his head in the direction of a diner.

"Sure." I grabbed my stuff from the front seat and Emmett locked up.

I listened as Emmett relayed the recurring oil leak trouble he'd been having with his SUV while we made our way to the diner and found a booth. He'd bought it used and did most of his own maintenance.

I made a humming sound as I thought it over. "I used to work on cars with my dad. If the engine keeps blowing gaskets then it probably means the crankcase valve is jammed."

Emmett eyed me appreciatively. "You know how to fix one of those?"

"They're not too hard to replace." I shrugged and bit into the burger that had just arrived. Three bites in, a big blob of ketchup dripped right onto the front of my favorite black button-up shirt, the one with the pearl snap buttons.

"Fuck!" I muttered and excused myself, heading to the washroom. I took off my shirt and stepped up to the sink to rinse out the ketchup, grateful for the v-neck undershirt I was wearing. The white shirt was thin and fitted my torso closely but it was better than wearing a wet shirt for the next few hours. I used the facilities and after washing my hands I dried them under the blower. Then I tried drying the wet spot on my shirt under the hot air too. It helped a little.

My glasses were starting to give me a headache so traded the glasses for my contacts. There was a crease on the bridge of my nose and I tried to rub it away with my finger.

I stalked back to the table and dropped into my seat with a huff, slouching as I ate my fries, _without_ ketchup. It felt significantly colder where we were sitting without my long sleeves. I had goose bumps forming on my arms and my nipples tightened from the cold air blasting down on me from a vent above my head.

I looked up to see Emmett staring at me intently.

"What?" I bit out, a bit more sharply than I intended. It wasn't his fault I dripped ketchup on my shirt like a clumsy fool.

His eyes snapped to mine and the look on his face made the muscles in my belly tighten. _Huh. That was… unexpected._

"Nothin', man," he croaked strangely before clearing his throat. "Uh, you gonna finish that burger?" I thought his cheeks were slightly pink.

"Nah, I don't know why I ordered this for breakfast. It's too much fucking food for this early in the morning." I pushed my plate at him, seeing that his was already empty.

~oOo~

The cloud cover was breaking up when we made it back to Emmett's SUV and popped the hood once again. He checked the oil and saw that the engine needed a least a quart added. He grabbed one from the case he kept in the trunk and poured it in while I pointed out the crankcase valve. We didn't have the tools or the time I'd need to fix it so we settled on just feeding the leaky beast for now. Emmett had pushed the sleeves of his shirt up past his elbows to keep it clean but that didn't stop him from getting streaks of dirt and grime all over his hands and forearms. I watched him check the oil level again. His hands were strong and deft, large but handsome. I wondered if the smattering of black hair on his forearms would be soft or wiry under my fingers.

_Where the hell did that come from?_

I snorted at myself for ogling and looked down at the smudges of grease on my own hands. There were only a few but I wanted to wash up before we got back on the road.

Emmett was leaning against the brick wall next to the gas station washroom, waiting his turn, when I finished and stepped out. He had that same nonchalant pose as when I first met him this morning outside the Sureshot. Looking at him now I didn't see the smug arrogance I had assumed less than two hours ago. Instead I saw a man at ease, a man who respected and valued others as he did himself, a man comfortable in his own skin. I met Emmett's eyes intending to let him know that the washroom was free but the look on his face stopped me in my tracks.

My feet were frozen in place, I was mute, and my breath hitched in my throat. I nodded my head in the direction of the door in lieu of speaking. Emmett pushed himself off the wall and walked toward me silently, his eyes locked on mine up until the moment he passed me. His shoulder brushed mine lightly as he passed and suddenly I was in motion again. My foot released the door and I took off for the truck.

_Holy Bedroom Eyes, Batman!_

I suppressed a shiver and took a few deep calming breaths, intent on regaining a shred of the objective distance I needed as a reporter.

~oOo~

Back on the road, with the radio on lightly in the background, we returned to our easy conversation. If I worried the atmosphere would be tense between us after that… moment or whatever the hell it was, Emmett's jovial chatter put it out of my mind. I started my mini-recorder again and began a new round of questioning.

I learned that of the ten decathlon events Emmett's favorite was pole vaulting and that his proudest moment on the field was the first time he scored over 5 meters in that event. When I quizzed Emmett on nerves before a meet, worst event, and biggest goof up he answered me with candor. He admitted to pre-meet jitters that ran the gamut from the shakes to puking. He told me that he was rubbish at throwing the javelin because his aim sucked. He shared that his biggest goof up was tripping over thin air on a long jump approach once, landing flat on his face and giving himself a black eye.

He thought he was showing me the worst side of himself. I found myself appreciating him more by the minute. He was honest and imperfect and thoughtful and _fucking real_.

There was one question left on my list and honestly, the more I learned about Emmett McCarty, the decathlon athlete with the handsome hands, bedroom eyes and a heart of gold, the more I dreaded asking it.

"Love interest?" I kept my head down and eyes focused on my notepad as if the answer to the question was no more interesting to me than the number of hours he spent in the gym.

"I'm interested in love, love just doesn't seem to be interested in me," he deadpanned.

"No significant other? No better half?" I quipped.

He looked at me for a moment as if he wanted to say something but couldn't make up his mind.

"Let's just say there's… someone out there with potential and leave it at that for now, ok?" He smirked and his eyes glittered with mischief. This was the first question he had evaded.

_What juicy little secret are you hiding Mr. McCarty?_

Emmett was still holding my gaze. I was starting to feel strangely and unbearably tense. I wanted to look away and I didn't want to look away. Finally he broke the connection to concentrate on the road once more.

~oOo~

I looked to the road as well and noticed that our surroundings were getting progressively less rural as we approached the state line. In just minutes we would cross the Columbia River into Oregon and drop right into the suburban sprawl of Portland. I spied the bridge ahead and wondered if it were possible that Emmett was gay or if he was just a very progressive straight man. Then my pervy brain went right into the gutter as I mentally calculated all the most enjoyable ways to find out.

Mount Hood rose in the distance to the east as we crossed the bridge. We entered Portland proper and it didn't take us long to navigate our way to the rec field behind the Portland State University athletics center. Emmett found the UW team bus and parked. His eyes seemed lit from within and I caught onto his rising sense of excitement, matching him grin for grin.

We exited the truck and Emmett pointed out the sidelines and stands where I could sit to watch. He was headed to the locker rooms to find his teammates and prepare for the meet but he left me the keys to the Chevy in case I needed a place to keep my things. I appreciated the trusting gesture. There was time to kill before the meet began and I intended to spend it observing my surroundings with a reporter's eye.

_Which apparently includes checking out Emmett's ass as he walks away._

Just as I was making peace with my new-found ogling tendency around Emmett I saw him greet a young woman dressed-out for the track in UW colors. I heard Emmett say, "Hey baby doll!" as he pulled her into a big bear hug. He lifted her off her feet easily. She planted a kiss on his cheek and I watched covertly as they conversed in whispers, their heads bent intimately together.

_There's one checkmark in the straight column. But the bedroom eyes he flashed me at the gas station definitely puts a checkmark for the gay column. The verdict is still out…_

~oOo~

I checked my bag to make sure I had everything I needed: notepad, pen, mini-recorder, contacts case, glasses, music player and ear buds, loose change, gum. _That looks about right. Sheesh, I guess Alice has a point when she calls this thing my man-purse._

On my way over to the sidelines, I stopped by a small "press" table and snagged a program that listed the events by time and the participants by name and tag number. I ran my finger down the page looking for 144. That was the number that had been pinned to the chest and back of the blonde athlete I had seen Emmett greet with such enthusiasm. _Rosalie Hale._ Now I had a name to put with the face of my competition.

_Whoa, what? _I shook off the stirrings of jealousy with chagrin. Had I really flipped a complete 180 in my view of Emmett McCarty in less than four hours? The idea left me feeling uncertain and off-kilter. _And Alice thought this would be good for me?_

While I was waiting I scratched out some notes on the pre-meet atmosphere and the weather, stubbing out a couple of paragraphs for my article. Emmett's first event was the 100 meter sprint. Athletes began to appear from the rec and clumped in groups of like colors as they warmed and stretched their muscles. They looked like herds of antelope distinguished by their markings.

I saw Emmett in the crowd and when I caught his eye from my spot in the stands I nodded and flicked him a thumbs-up. His answering grin resurrected my own. A sense of anticipation built inside my chest as I saw him line up along the painted lines with several other runners. Each racer crouched, waiting for the gun. I focused on Emmett's form while keeping some awareness on the remaining competitors with my peripheral vision.

The gun sounded. Emmett was not first off the mark and I guessed that would cost him. The sprint was, by nature, over quickly. A mere 10.33 seconds passed before the first runner breached the finish line.

Emmet was neither the first nor the last to cross. He finished in 3rd place with a respectable 10.47 seconds and I watched as he took time to slap backs or shake hands with each man like a brother or a friend. I took time to compare Emmett to the others. While all of them were muscular, Emmett was broader by far than most of the others. His size was impressive even from afar.

The rest of the day was a mix of adrenalin highs and long waits.

When Emmett came off the mark for the long jump, his feet pounded a strong measured beat as he approached the sand pit. I watched in fascination as he propelled himself into the air at the last possible moment, arms wind-milling for momentum, legs still cycling. Frankly I was amazed by the sight of his large frame hurtling through space in a way that appeared to be tightly controlled chaos. I couldn't imagine throwing my own body that far and I knew my eyes were wide with disbelief.

There was a look of dissatisfaction evident on Emmett's face, though, as he noted the distance he'd achieved and I wondered why.

I continued to follow Emmett with my eyes until I noticed a familiar form walk up to him. It was Ben, another reporter from The Daily. He was one of the regular sports news guys, attending every home event and riding with the team to meets away from home. He would cover the whole track team while my assignment was more of a personal interest piece. I watched as Ben and Emmett chatted with ease, gesturing at the marks in the sand. Ben patted Emmett on the back before he turned away.

My gaze lingered on Emmett as he downed most of a bottle of water and splashed the rest on his face and hair. He scrubbed his hands across his face and the back of his neck. It was such a little thing, so normal, and yet I felt a tiny ball of warmth bubbling up in my chest. Imagining what disappointment he might be feeling made me cringe.

On impulse I jumped down from the bleachers and headed over towards Emmett on the pretext of snagging my own water bottle. "Hey man."

"Hey." He seemed tense, rolling his neck and shoulders. The little bubble in my chest grew at seeing him so subdued and I needed to do something to bring back that grin of excitement I'd seen in the truck when we'd first arrived.

"So… shot put next, right?" He only nodded. "I, uh, hear you're pretty good at that," I said, quirking an eyebrow at him.

"I'm alright, I guess," he shrugged not really meeting my eye. _Fuck it. Time to pull out the big guns._

"Yo, _Emmett_," I said pointedly. I waited until he looked up before I continued, allowing a slow, flirty smile to form on my lips. I looked him straight in the eye. "Show me what you've got." He gaped at me and I let my words hang heavy in the air between us for a moment before I sauntered back to my seat. When I turned back to look in his direction he was still staring my way and I could have sworn I saw his eyes snap up to mine. _Busted! Checking out my ass puts another mark in the gay column…_

Even from my seat in the stands I could see a hint of grin on Emmett's face as I watched him warming up for the shot put event. He was the last man up. When it was his turn in the white circle I scribbled my impressions on my notepad. I was writing without looking at the paper so that I didn't have to take my eyes off Emmett; I didn't want to miss a thing. I tried to imagine the feel of the smooth talc on his neck where the sixteen pound metal ball was nestled as he took his stance. Was the ball cold to the touch or had it heated in the sun? Emmett stepped off the mark and his gyroscopic spin gained speed and momentum. He whipped the shot down the field.

It streaked through the air for a breath, then hit the grass and rolled to a stop. The ref called the score – 68 feet 9 inches – and the crowd that had so far responded to each event with quiet cheers and golf-claps burst into sound. Emmett's distance had topped all the others by more than 2 feet.

After accepting a round of congratulations and back-slapping from his teammates and the other decathlon athletes, Emmett jogged over to where I was sitting. He was carrying two wrapped sandwiches and two bottles of water. He tossed me one of each with a giddy grin and I smirked back, holding out my fist. He bumped it with his own and we ate side-by-side in a silence that was punctuated by sidewise glances and muffled chuckles.

The rest of the afternoon held two more events for Emmett – the high jump and the 400 meter dash. Despite his imposing size, Emmett loped with a natural grace towards the high jump bar suspended over the thick mat. It was bewildering to me how that confident stride morphed into leap, twist, arch. The flex and spring of his spine seemed a trick of the light, a bit of magic, as his feet cleared the bar.

The 400 meter race was much like the 100 in form but required more stamina and a sustained speed, a controlled blaze rather than the incendiary flare of a struck match. I moved closer to the track for a better view. It was truly a marvel to watch him move, stride for stride, with much leaner guys. He placed well and seemed satisfied, relaxed. Through the whole experience I was gaining an appreciation for the dedication, skill and grace of these sportsmen and women but more than that I was in awe of the mechanics of the human body in a way that was entirely new to me.

~oOo~

Emmett walked off the field towards me, guzzling water from a bottle. The light sheen of sweat that covered him seemed to highlight the lines and curves of his muscled body. He emptied the bottle, crushed it, and lobbed it underhand to the nearby trash.

I cuffed his shoulder lightly. "Haven't you ever heard of recycling?"

He grinned at me and whipped off his shirt, using it to wipe the sweat off his face and chest. I tried not to stare. The smell of his fresh sweat made me think of sex. _Not helping._

"I gotta hit the showers."

"Yeah you do, you stink," I lied.

He just laughed and his grin got bigger. "You're coming out to eat with me and the team tonight. I'll meet you at the Chevy in twenty." At that he walked away, pausing once to grab his plastic bottle from the trash and wink at me, and then continued to the locker rooms. I think I heard him whistling.

At dinner I sat with Ben. The restaurant had pushed tables together to make one long enough for the whole team. We were a few chairs down the table from Emmett and I, ever the observer, watched him interact with his team. He was genuinely likable. He bantered easily and had a good word for everyone. He delivered advice with respect and received it with aplomb. But when one of the smaller-framed runners started teasing Emmett about his bulky size I thought I saw his cheeks get pink as he shrugged it off with a muttered, "Whatever." It was a difficult concept for me to reconcile. Emmett was a paragon of confidence on the track, master of his skeleton, muscles, nerves, reflexes. He drew the eye like a statue of Adonis. And yet, off the field, when someone remarked on his physique he was… shy?

Rosalie sat next to Emmett and it seemed that every time I looked up she was scooting her chair a little closer to his. More than once I caught sight of him turned towards her whispering, his arm on the back of her chair, her hand in the curls at the nape of his neck. When she noticed me watching, her eyes twinkled like she knew a secret. I wanted desperately to know what they were whispering about but I thought it might make me sick if I had to listen to them coo at each other.

After dinner, Emmett and I took his Chevy to the motel where the team had accommodations for the night. We checked in at the front desk at the same time. I was sharing a double with the other reporter Ben, and Emmett was bunking with a teammate. We walked together and got to my room first. Ben hadn't yet arrived. Emmett followed me in and we traded phones so we could exchange cell numbers. Afterwards, I began unpacking.

He was standing there, leaning against the wall in that rakish, confident way again just watching me as I unpacked. I felt hyper-aware of his presence suddenly and it unnerved me. Finally I turned around and threw him a questioning glance, "What?"

"Just watching you," he laughed. "You got to watch me all day, right? Turnabout is fair play and all that."

"I watched you because that's my job. Whatever, you can look all you want but I'm just unpacking." I was babbling and I knew it but was powerless to stop myself. "It's not like you're going to see something exciting. I'm not going to hurl heavy metal objects or leap over high jump bars. The longest jump you'll ever see me make is the one that gets me into this bed." _Damn, that did not come out right!_ I fumbled the bag of toiletries I was holding.

My cheeks were burning in embarrassment. So I did what any nervous person might do in this situation. I deflected.

"So… Rosalie Hale, huh?" I tried to waggle my eyebrows at Emmett in implication.

His eyes widened slightly and he raised his own eyebrows at me. "What about her?"

I cleared my throat. Emmett was still leaning against the wall next to the bathroom door. I would have to walk past him to take out my contacts. I stalled, staying safely on the other side of the room. "She's, you know… hot."

"You think so?" He stared at me with an incredulous look on his face that pissed me off.

"Well, yeah," I huffed. Did he think because I was gay that I couldn't determine whether or not a girl would be considered hot by straight guy standards? A lick of anger tingled up the back of my neck and got my feet moving again. I walked past Emmett and into the bathroom, leaving the door ajar. "Blonde, long legs, big rack, pretty face… dream babe, right? Track and Field Barbie."

He turned to follow me, reaching up to grab the top of the door frame he filled. His t-shirt was stretched taut across his broad chest and rode up a bit at his belly. I could see a swatch of downy black hair there that hinted, invited the eye and mind to wander.

"Rosalie's the best, don't get me wrong," he started. "I just didn't think she was your type, that you'd be interested in her." He was watching my face closely. I tried not to let it give too much away.

"I'm not interested in her, you ass. I was asking about her because I thought _you_ were into her. Mystery love interest," I reminded, pointing at him. "Reporter," I pointed at myself. The room felt too small but he stepped in anyway.

"No, I'm not into her." He stepped closer. I swallowed tightly.

"Reporter," he pointed at me, so close now that his index finger hovered over my chest. "Gay," he continued to point. It wasn't a question but I looked him in the eye and nodded.

He tapped his own chest lightly, his face sincere. "Gay," he repeated. He was so close I could feel his breath on my face as he spoke.

Then his signature grin came out in full force and I was blinded like there were fucking stars in my eyes or some shit. "Guess you still have a mystery to solve." He walked out and I heard him call out _Later_ as the door to my room clicked shut.

~oOo~

The next day everything seemed to be on fast-forward. Emmett called my cell and we checked out of our rooms, rushing to meet up for breakfast with the team again. This time we were at a diner and shared a booth with Rosalie. Emmett sat next to me and Rosalie sat across from us both, batting Emmett's hand away playfully when he tried to steal food off her plate. She was surprisingly cool and had good taste in film. When Emmett told me that Rosalie had dressed as Hedwig from _Hedwig and the Angry Inch_ last Halloween, I gaped in awe. The two of them laughed happily when I offered her my fist to bump with a geeky, "Word!" _Yeah, I'm old school like that._

Back at the field, Emmett was keyed up and buzzing with excitement. "Pole vaulting today," he sing-songed and the skin around his eyes crinkled, his grin was so big. Emmett's first event was the 110 meter hurdles and then discus after that. His enthusiasm had infected me and by the time Emmett lined up behind the chalk for the pole vault I felt the double thrill of excitement and dread.

I stood, gripping the metal rail in front of me as Emmett sprinted down the runway, the pole raised like a lance before him. He gathered speed and I felt my heart accelerate with him. While the arc and twist of the high jump had happened so fast it seemed like a trick of the light, this vault flickered before my eyes like a silent slide show of still frames.

Emmett lowering the pole to plant the tip in the box.

Emmett swinging up, feet over head, as the pole bent nearly in half.

Emmett harnessing the recoil potential in the pole, his body an arrow shooting up, up.

Emmett rolling, curling, arching - like a high dive in reverse.

There was a pounding in my ears and it sounded like this: Emmett. Emmett. _Emmett._

~oOo~

I spent the next two hours crashing from the adrenalin high of witnessing Emmett's vault. I honestly could never remember ever getting this caught up in actions and events so outside my control. It was boggling. Rosalie had finished her events for the weekend and led me under the stands for a covert cigarette. I was too amped to eat any lunch and though I didn't smoke very often, the ritual of it calmed me somewhat.

She and I returned in time to see Emmett throw the javelin. When he finished, I grabbed two bottles of water and walked onto the field where he was stretching. I wanted an excuse to talk to him, to be near enough to him to remind myself that he was still _real_, but I didn't want him to see how affected I had been by the pole vaulting. So I asked him about the javelin instead. He told me that he only came in sixth out of ten, but he was pleased to have beaten his own previous record by several feet. I shook his hand in congratulations and I didn't want to let go.

Eventually I walked back to the stands so Emmett could prepare for his last event. Sitting there staring down at my notepad, I didn't know how I was going to manage to write this article. I had pages of notes on Emmett's background, his stats, and his philosophies on decathlon and on life. I had pages more on his strength, agility, speed, on his god damn _grace_ on the field. There was more than enough material; that was not the issue. The problem was this: I was feeling… something… for Emmett. But was that just the nature of the assignment? After shadowing any half-decent person for two days – watching their every move, immersed in their element – wouldn't I naturally become attached to my subject? Was it natural for me to dread the end of our time together? And how was I going to sort out a theme for my article when I couldn't even sort out my own feelings?

I was too caught up. I needed to pull back and gain some perspective and some objectivity. I needed distance.

I had been so lost in my thoughts that I looked up in surprise when I noticed Emmett standing in front of me. I had missed his 1500 meter race completely and while I noticed the crease of disappointment furrowing Emmett's brow, I was still too preoccupied to adjust the way I was behaving towards him. I felt a pang of guilt for being such a jerk, though truly, wasn't it better this way? Wouldn't it be better to put some space between us? Wasn't I already too attached to his feelings, to his reactions to me, to _him_?

I heard Emmett ask me to meet him at the truck in half an hour for dinner and I must have answered him though I don't remember what I said. There was this _fog_ in my head that was noisy with my thoughts and I felt desperate to clear it. I gathered my things numbly and dropped them off at the Chevy. I stood outside its closed door wondering what to do with myself while I waited. I needed to find some silence, some room to breathe. I needed to walk.

My hands stuffed in my jean pockets and my eyes on the ground, I stalked off to the far end of the parking lot. It was nearly empty here and I hoped the quiet of my surroundings might help to quiet my mind.

I was walking, pacing really, trying to get my head screwed back on right. Everything about Emmett was so… Well I just didn't know how to believe in it because it was so different from what I was expecting. My head felt inside out and upside down. Two guys walked by me then. They looked like freshmen, youthful and callow.

"Did you see that really huge guy from UW? McCarty? I don't know how a guy that big can get that much air. I thought the fucking pole was gonna break in half." His tone was admiring. I smiled because that was something I had wondered too.

"Dude, you like that queer?" I felt my body tense involuntarily.

"What? I thought he did pretty good out there?"

"No man, I mean he's queer. A faggot. He takes it up the ass." Crude gestures. Laughter.

It was stupid. It was the same juvenile bullshit I'd heard and ignored a hundred times. It's the kind of posturing tough-talk that you hear in the hallways at school, in the movies, on the street and I'd learned to shrug it off. The times when comments like that had been more than talk and directed at me had taught me to be fast, to duck, and to block blows to my face and groin because those were the most humiliating. And because no matter how fast I was he always found a way to corner me and I couldn't block every punch. Royce King taught me that.

It was stupid, inane and I should have ignored it. I should have walked away knowing I was the better man but I just couldn't. There was this coldness that settled into my shoulders and the back of my neck, an icy stiffness that tightened my chest and this time I just couldn't let it go.

I stomped right past the first guy and swung at the one who called Emmett a faggot. My knuckles glanced off his chin and it hurt like hell. I'd never punched anyone before and though I knew it would hurt and thought I was prepared for it, I wasn't. While I clutched my aching right fist to my stomach in pain the two guys began shouting.

"What the hell, man? What the _fuck_?"

"Oh shit, Mike! He clocked you!"

Mike, the one I hit, got in my face. "What the hell was that for, you asshole?" He shoved me, hard in the shoulders, and I stumbled back. I could feel all the frustration, humiliation and self-loathing I'd locked away since leaving Forks high school and Royce King behind. I scrambled to my feet.

"Don't you _ever_ fucking talk about Emmett!" I hissed at him, shoving him away from me. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the other guy hanging back. It seemed like he didn't want to get involved in the altercation. For that I was grateful, but in the moment I took to check his position I had let down my guard.

"Keep your hands off me, fucker!" Mike stepped up again and this time he jabbed me twice with his fist. The first hit cuffed me in the temple, whipping my head around to the right. The second hit landed in my gut. The air whooshed out of me with a grunt and I fell forward, catching myself roughly on my palms. A hand grabbed the collar of my shirt and I heard the fabric rip as Mike shook me. "And stay the fuck down this time, you crazy bastard!"

I was extremely lucky that neither of them were really much like Royce King after all. There's no way Royce would have walked away while I was on the ground without at least a parting kick to the ribs.

~oOo~

I stayed down until they were gone and I was breathing normally again. Finally I dragged myself up to my feet and trudged back to Emmett's truck. He was there already, pacing, and I winced at the look on his face when he saw me. _I must look as shitty as I feel._

"What the hell happened to you?" His voice was a blend of shock and concern.

"What's it look like? I got in a fight." I bit out, wiping blood off my face with my sleeve. The shirt was ruined anyway.

Emmett looked like he wanted to ask more questions but he closed his mouth instead and I was grateful. He tried to put an arm around me but I shrugged it off and he backed down.

"Alright, alright, just come into the lockers with me and I'll patch you up."

I followed him into the empty locker room and sat on the bench he pointed out to me. I watched out of the corner of my eye as Emmett gathered the first aid supplies he wanted. When he had them all, he straddled the bench mirroring me, touching our knees together. He started by washing the dirt and blood from the cut over my eye and the raw flesh on my knuckles and palms. My agitation from the fight ebbed gradually under his gentle touch but as it faded I felt the shame and humiliation hiding underneath.

"This shit's gonna sting," he warned me when he started to apply the ointment and I hissed in agreement. He taped the cut and bandaged the scrapes.

"Did you take any hits in the ribs or the gut?" I nodded, looking away. Then Emmett cleared his throat and reached for the buttons on my shirt.

"I can take off my own goddamn shirt, Emmett," I spat. I was an ass for taking out my self-loathing bullshit on him and I knew it. He brushed my fingers away gently and I looked at him then.

"I know you can. I want to do it," he said, and I tried to understand the look in his eye. He reached for the buttons again and this time I let him.

He peeled the shirt down my arms, careful of my cuts and scrapes. Emmett nudged my shoulder. He wanted me to lie back so he could check my torso and he balled up my shirt to place it under my head. His hands on my ribs were firm but so slow and gentle as he hovered over me. I cracked wide open in the wake of his tenderness.

"Shh, Edward, shh. I've got you. I've got you now." Emmett wiped saltwater out from under my eyes with the pads of his thumbs and pulled me gently upright again. He cradled me in his arms and I let my head sink onto his shoulder. He smelled like soap and sandalwood and cedar. I turned my face into Emmett's neck, breathing him in, and my arms tightened around his waist in a hug. I shuddered at the bittersweet feeling of having someone in my arms again. I didn't know if I deserved this man but I wanted him, I needed him, and I wanted to show him how much.

"Edward?" My name was a question on Emmett's lips and I needed to know if he was feeling this too. I traced his jaw with my nose as I pulled back to see his face.

"Emmett," I breathed. "Do you want this? Do you want… me?" My voice cracked at the end.

"I want you Edward, I do. But I can wait, baby. When you're feeling better…" he whispered.

I shook my head. "You make me feel better, Emmett. You make me feel better than I've felt in a long time." I pulled him into a kiss and felt him smile against my lips. We tasted each other with little nips and licks and dipping tongues. I tugged at Emmett's shirt, asking. He removed it in answer. Hands on my hips, he dragged me closer until our legs tangled together straddling the bench and our chests were pressed against each other tightly.

He nuzzled his smooth cheek across the stubble on my jaw. I raked my fingers through the black curls on his chest. They were silky and I snickered lowly when he rubbed his chest against mine. They tickled. Emmett laughed too and the tension of the last few hours evaporated as his laughter echoed within the empty locker room. For a little while the only sounds to be heard were the rustle of denim grinding against denim, soft grunts from Emmett and my own panting breath.

The friction was driving me crazy and I needed to touch him. One hand trailed down his chest to the waistband of his jeans. I dipped the tips of my fingers inside and whispered them back and forth across his belly. His muscles there quivered and jumped. I fingered the button on his pants and he moaned his permission. I sucked and licked his neck as I popped the button. My teeth teased his earlobe to the sound of his zipper opening click by click.

I pulled back from Emmett to disentangle our legs and catch my breath. He moved his lips to my jaw, neck, earlobe and I shivered. My fingers found his belt loops and I tugged upward, whispering, "Stand up for me, baby."

I ran my hands over his flexing thighs as he pushed to a stand before me. He laid one palm flat against the lockers to steady himself while I worked his jeans and briefs down over his erection. I pressed my face in the crook of his hip and wrapped my arms around his thighs, hugging him to me tightly and breathing in his musk. His free hand caressed the muscles in my neck.

I nuzzled his hip with open-mouthed kisses and playful nibbles, loving the sound of his groans and the feel of his cock twitching against my cheek. My fingers stroked up and down his body caressing his lower back, butt and thighs. I looked up at him and wet my lips thoroughly and then I ran my tongue around his tip, coating it with my spit. I wanted so badly to please him, to care for him, to thank him for the tenderness and acceptance he had shown me. One hand grasping his base now, I pursed my lips and pushed my mouth down onto him slowly until just the head popped in. I watched him watching me as my lips imitated for him what it would feel like to enter me elsewhere.

"Nng… mmph… OH!" His cries shot liquid heat straight to my cock.

My tongue twirled and pressed as I opened wide and took him deeper. I reveled in the flex and release of his muscled butt under my hand as I used it to direct the buck of his hips. Emmett's fingers curled around the back of my neck and I sensed that his body was coiling, tightening. The hand that I had wrapped around his base now moved to lay flat against the skin just next to his cock, fingers threaded loosely through the hair there and my thumb snaked under his sac to press up against the flesh underneath, timing it with his thrusts.

The pressure built as I laved him, loved him, gave over all my thoughts to pleasing him and drinking him in.

"Ah… ahhh… oh God…. Edward!" I clamped him to me with my forearm across the dip of his back and swallowed down around him until my nose was buried in his curls. His whole body was tensed against me as he shouted his release.

I backed off him slowly when he was finished, reflecting back to him the tenderness he had given me, and helped him drop softly to the bench. We leaned against each other, forehead to forehead. He stroked my face and I ran my hands behind his neck, scratching lightly, until he caught his breath.

Emmett grabbed me then and kissed me so deeply that I couldn't breathe for the intensity of it. I panted for air when he broke the kiss and growled at me, "Take these off, Edward." He was yanking at my jeans. I stood to one side of the bench, toeing off my shoes & socks as he jerked open my button-down fly and peeled my jeans and boxers away from my body.

I let him guide me back to the bench, my shirt a pillow under my head again. I had one foot flat on the floor and the other flat on the bench, my knee bent. I was totally naked before him, open and vulnerable in more ways than one. I let it all go. I put myself completely in Emmett's hands.

He didn't disappoint.

Emmett hooked my bent knee over his shoulder and wrapped that arm around my thigh, rolling my hips up and pinning me to him, anchoring me in the here and now. I convulsed in pleasure when his tongue met my flesh. "Oh _fuck_!" He was burning me with the sweetest fire. His free hand stroked my cock while his mouth was licking, sucking and probing everywhere below.

I clutched my own hair just to hold onto something, anything. I ached to have him inside me but with no lube, no condoms, and none of the important conversations, I knew it couldn't happen now. _Next time, dear god, please let there be a next time_.

Emmett changed positions fluidly so that his hand and mouth traded places, my leg slipping lightly to the floor. I felt his fingertips stroking and teasing my entrance while open-mouthed kisses and hot breath ravaged my shaft. When he finally took me deep in his mouth I felt like I was being devoured. The lick of flames in my belly became a wildfire. He popped just the tip of his index finger inside me and I flew apart. He wiggled small circles there, swallowing and humming as I shuddered through my climax until my whole body went limp.

I felt him shift over me and lay his head gently on my chest. I brought my arms around his shoulders, holding him to me.

"I can hear your heart beating," he whispered and I ached at the sweetness in his voice.

I wondered if my heart sounded the same to him as it did to me, a thudding repeat of one word: Emmett. Emmett. _Emmett._

~oOo~

We dressed quietly with soft touches, lingering kisses, lazy smiles and smoldering eyes.

In the truck on the ride home to Seattle I told Emmett everything. I spilled my guts about Royce King in high school and the fight in the parking lot tonight. I told him how Peter had broken my heart and about the fortune cookie and Alice's prediction. I confessed that I wanted to hate him before I met him. And I tried to explain how I felt today when I saw him vaulting through the air. The whole time Emmett held my hand on the console between us. Through it all he squeezed my fingers in reassurance, rubbed soothing circles on the back of my hand with his thumb, and nibbled my fingertips gleefully. By the time I was done, a bone-deep fatigue had settled over me. My eyelids were too heavy and my words had begun to slur.

Emmett turned on the radio so that it played softly in the cabin of the Chevy. "Just crash, Edward. You need some sleep."

I mumbled something in response that I meant to come out as, "I want to keep you company."

"Shh, Edward, you are." He kissed my palm, biting playfully at the heel of my hand. That mega-watt smile was back on his face as he spoke. "I've got you, baby. I've got you now."

.

.

.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading my first slash fic. Please leave me a note to tell me what you loved and what needs more work. I'd really appreciate any feedback to help me improve my writing. Reviews are better than Emmett's dimples.

Now continued as a multi-chaptered fic! Don't forget to review and then click on to the next chapter!


	2. preview

A/N: For those of you sweet readers who've been waiting so patiently for the sequel to Potential, I give you this little taste of what's in progress. Edward and Emmett will be back, and soon. :)

* * *

My left hand reached across my chest to knead at the muscle of my right shoulder. I circled my right elbow out beside me trying to loosen the knots that were forming and listened to my shoulder joint creak and pop as I rotated it. Garrett and I were exiting the locker room at the same time and I popped my head up in a nod, "Good run today."

We paused together a few steps outside the door and he turned to me. "Yeah, I was pleased with my time. And the weather held which is definitely a plus." He shot a speculative look at the grey clouds gathering to the west. "Though I think the rain is going to start here any minute."

"I hear that," I agreed with a glance of my own at the sky and rueful chuckle. A movement over Garrett's shoulder caught my attention. What I saw there brought a grin to my face. Garrett followed my look and then turned back to me with a smirk.

"Looks like someone's waiting for you."

"Looks that way," I breathed in response, but my eyes were still on the man across the way.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow, Em." Garrett was snickering at me but I ignored it.

"Tomorrow," I repeated. His smirk deepened and he slapped my back before walking away. He was muttering something that sounded suspiciously like _go get him, tiger_ under his breath. He didn't have to tell me twice.

My eyes had been locked on Edward's since the moment I spotted him over Garrett's shoulder. He was standing stiffly near the wall of the athletic building and I drank in the sight of his lean body, righteous jaw and criminal mouth.

I felt predatory and full of want. For once I felt like a tiger, sleek and liquid, rather than the lumbering bear I usually felt like. The knot in my shoulder was forgotten as a different kind of ache took its place. Edward wasn't wearing his glasses today and I took note of the way his eyes got bigger as I advanced on him. He wrapped and unwrapped his long fingers around the strap of his bag repeatedly. _Is he nervous?_ That thought stopped me short and I dialed back the agressiveness of my approach. My confidence faltered as I realized that despite the visceral reaction I was having to him, I didn't quite know where we stood with each other.

* * *

A/N2: Yes, I know that previews are considered no-no's according to the TOS. Flame me if you really want to... just do it in a PM because eventually this drabble will be replaced with the full-length sequel.

Meanwhile, if you haven't checked out the Picture is Worth 1000 Words contest, why not? It's a fun little prompt and resulted in quite a few gems. Read them here:

**http://www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/community/a_picture_is_worth_a_1000_words_contest/76199/**

Voting is going right now for just a few more days. And yes, I have a story there called _One Way Ticket_. {end of shameless self-promotion}

TTFN, my lovelies!


	3. Kinetic, pt 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Twilight.

**A/N:** Thanks to my readers for waiting so patiently for this continuation from Potential. Big hugs to the gal who often betas for me, Mac214. She writes great fics so check her out. thanks to annetteskitty for pre-reading. :)

* * *

My left hand reached across my chest to knead at the muscle of my right shoulder. I circled my right elbow out beside me trying to loosen the knots that were forming and listened to my shoulder joint creak and pop as I rotated it. Garrett and I were exiting the locker room at the same time, and I popped my head up in a nod, "Good run today."

We paused together a few steps outside the door. "Yeah, I was pleased with my time. And the weather held which is definitely a plus." He shot a speculative look at the grey clouds gathering to the west. "Though I think the rain is going to start here any minute."

"I hear that," I agreed with a glance of my own at the sky and rueful chuckle. A movement over Garrett's shoulder caught my attention. What I saw brought a grin to my face. Garrett followed my look and then turned back to me with a smirk.

"Looks like someone's waiting for you."

"Looks that way," I breathed in response, but my eyes were still on the man across the way.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow, Em." Garrett was snickering at me but I ignored it.

"Tomorrow," I repeated. His smirk deepened, and he slapped my back before walking away. He was muttering something that sounded suspiciously like _go get him, tiger_ under his breath. He didn't have to tell me twice.

My eyes had been locked on Edward's since the moment I spotted him over Garrett's shoulder. He was standing stiffly near the wall of the athletic building, and I drank in the sight of his lean body, righteous jaw and criminal mouth.

I felt predatory and full of want. For once I felt like a tiger, sleek and liquid, rather than the lumbering bear I usually felt like. The knot in my shoulder was forgotten as a different kind of ache took its place. Edward wasn't wearing his glasses today, and I took note of the way his eyes got bigger as I advanced on him. He wrapped and unwrapped his long fingers around the strap of his bag repeatedly. _Is he nervous?_ That thought stopped me short and I dialed back the aggressiveness of my approach. My confidence faltered as I realized that despite the visceral reaction I was having to him, I didn't quite know where we stood with each other.

But I was really fucking happy to see him, and I wanted him to know that.

"Edward!" I called out as I got close enough to meet his eye. "It's so good to see you! How are you?" I stepped right into his personal space and wrapped my hand around his bicep, sneaking my thumb under the short sleeve of his t-shirt and stroking happy circles on the muscle there. I didn't want there to be any confusion about my interest in him.

It was late Thursday afternoon, and this was the first chance I'd gotten to see Edward since the weekend meet in Portland. The morning after I dropped him off at his apartment, I had called to check on him. I wanted to see how he was feeling and to ask him to have dinner with me. Instead of getting the chance to hear his sexy-as-fuck voice, I got his voicemail. Tuesday he'd replied by text, saying that he was busy catching up on his class work after spending the weekend away. I'd answered his text as soon as I got out of class, asking him to let me know when he was caught up. I'd been waiting to hear from him ever since.

I'd been wondering if he needed some time to recuperate after the fight he'd been in, or if he was having second thoughts about me, or if he really was just that busy this week. I didn't want to crowd him, but I was going kind of crazy. I had already planned to try calling him again tonight. _Two days was long enough to wait, right?_

His nervous stance now that we were face to face again had me worried that I'd misread the situation entirely.

"Emmett, um, hey." The luke-warm reception had self-doubt clawing at my gut. I didn't let up on those happy circles though, and when I felt him begin to relax under my thumb, I sighed lightly in relief.

"Hey," I exhaled, smiling. "I've been thinking about you."

"Yeah?" The creases in his brow had lessened but were not gone when he looked up.

"Yeah," I reassured him. I wanted to lean in and kiss him, but he still looked a little spooked, so I didn't risk it.

"Well," he started to speak then stopped to clear his throat. "Well, I've been thinking and... writing about you."

The guilty look on his face did not give me a good feeling. Of course he'd been writing about me. That was the whole reason we met, and I was grateful for it even though I didn't relish the glaring spotlight that his article would shine on me. I was involved with several activities on campus including track, but the attention aspect was still something of a struggle for me. It was good for me in a way though, like taking vitamins or eating spinach. It was a challenge that would make me stronger if I could learn not to let the anxiety stop me from doing what I loved. I was kind of like those folks with stage-fright who make themselves sign up for drama classes or the debate team.

"I'm almost finished..." he trailed off. I gave him a moment to see if he would continue. When he didn't, I gave his bicep a quick squeeze and released him.

"That sounds like a good thing, right? Does that mean you're free to get dinner with me tonight?"

"Actually, I needed to see you before I finish." He sighed. "I need to talk to you about the article before it goes to press."

He was so hesitant. There was some of the vulnerability I had seen when I patched him up in the locker room and some of the wariness he'd had when we first met. But there was something else there too, it seemed, that I couldn't name.

While I wished that he was here just because he wanted my company, I would take the in that the article was providing me again. I clapped my hands together heartily and grinned. "Great, we can talk over dinner 'cause I'm starved! What are you in the mood for?"

He shrugged and I eyed him closely. "You're looking a little queasy, man. No greasy spoons for us tonight. And we need to be able to talk, so no place that's too loud or crowded on a Thursday night..." I ran through a list of possibilities in my head, and then grinned when I hit on the perfect choice.

"I'm thinking Thai food, but not that dodgy place on the Ave."

I didn't wait for him to answer as I clasped his shoulder and steered him towards my truck. I used the time we spent crossing campus to ask after his sister and his classes, and by the time we'd reached the parking lot he seemed a little happier and a little more relaxed.

I pointed us in the direction of the Chevy. Unlocking the beast with the fob, I smacked the hood as I rounded the front to my side. _Someday I'll have the money for one of those hybrid SUV's._

"Still giving you trouble?"

"The oil light hasn't come on again yet, but I'm sure it's not long in coming. I Googled the crankcase valve fix you told me about, but I won't have time to work on it until this weekend." We slid into our seats. I studiously buckled my seat as I continued, "It seems pretty straightforward, but I wouldn't mind having you around to look it over if you have some free time?" I peeked at him out of the corner of my eye, but his face was blank.

"I'm pretty busy with stuff this weekend, sorry."

_Well, that was pretty vague coming from the writer._ I started the truck, checked my mirrors and backed out of my spot.

"What's this?" Edward changed the subject. He was turned in his seat, looking back at a 3D scale model I'd made for class.

"A project for one of my classes. It's a design for future improvements to the bus tunnel downtown to make public transit more accessible and reduce traffic in the city."

"What's your major?" he asked, and under his breath I heard him muttering that he couldn't believe he didn't ask me during the interview.

"Urban Design and Planning. Usually I take my bike or the bus to campus, but I drove today so I could bring my model home." We got stuck behind some traffic on our way to Capitol Hill, but Edward filled the time easily, asking me about my classes and why I chose urban planning. We were so involved in the conversation that he looked up at our surroundings in surprise when I shimmied into a parking spot just off the main thoroughfare.

"Almost there," I smiled, exiting my truck and locking it after Edward did the same. "Hungry?" My stomach growled just as he joined me on the sidewalk and he snickered.

"Not as hungry as you are, I guess."

"Guess not," I laughed, and we started walking after I nudged him to turn south down Broadway.

Angel's was known for consistently good Thai food and decent service. Its atmosphere was casual yet classy and just a touch romantic. Yeah, I was kind of manipulating the situation into a date scenario, but I wouldn't have gotten so physical with Edward last weekend if I hadn't thought we could have something together. To me, that wasn't just a quick fumble in the locker room to get off. Despite the intense vulnerability Edward had shown me that night, I didn't think he was just turning to me for comfort sex. Maybe he just needed me to remind him that I was willing to stick around.

When we got to Angel's, I stopped in front of the door and pulled it open. He hesitated when he realized where I was taking him. Eventually he stepped in, ducking under my arm that was holding the door ajar. I inhaled sharply at the pang of want I felt as he brushed past me. We crowded into the tiny area in front of the hostess stand, and I realized that I was probably standing too close behind him given the signals he been sending me today. I shifted my weight to my heels trying to give him more space without drawing attention to my movements.

The waitress led us into the main dining room. As we wove our way through the tables and chairs towards the back of the restaurant, I suddenly remembered why I always ordered take-out from Angel's rather than dining in.

There's an anxiety that sets in whenever I am in a shop with narrow aisles, or stuck in coach on an airplane, or visiting my Aunt's house that's decorated with breakable trinkets on every surface. I don't really know how to describe it except perhaps that it reminds me of what claustrophobia must be like. I feel closed-in and clumsy. I feel overly large for the space available, like a bull in a china shop. I think that's one reason why track suits me so well. It's all that open space and fresh air and the chance to discipline my body to obey me in that space. On the field, I feel the relief of having control over my movements. It's a feeling that irrationally disappears whenever I find myself in a confined space, or a restaurant crowded with tiny glass-topped tables, or when anyone draws attention to my bulky size.

I steadied myself with deep breaths. When the waitress stopped at a miniscule table for two, I balked, scanning the space for an empty four-top. "Excuse me, miss, but I think we need _that one_." I didn't give her time to say no. I might have felt bad for bull-dozing over the diminutive Thai hostess like that if I hadn't felt such a powerful relief to be done threading through the tight maze of tables and seated at one that was actually big enough for me.

We were both quiet for a bit as we looked over the menu. I felt my heart rate settling down to normal after my little bout of anxiety. "Have you eaten here before? I can recommend something if you haven't."

"That's okay, I've been here before… with Peter."

_That's a can of worms I'm not going to open unless he does._ I could tell by Edward's scowl that he didn't want to talk about the ex. I was grateful because it seemed we had enough tension already.

I waited until we had ordered before bringing up the topic that seemed to be making Edward so angst-ridden. "So... you needed to talk to me about something before you finish the article?"

"Two things really." He looked like he didn't know how to continue.

"It's okay, Edward. Give me the bad news first," I joked. He looked like he still couldn't decide what to say first. That did not bode well for me.

"I shouldn't see you while I'm working on the article," he finally said, twisting his water glass in circles. "Journalism ethics requires me to have a detachment from the story. Conflict of interest and all that..."

"Does that mean you're not supposed to be with me now?"

"Kind of. I mean, I needed to contact you about… the other thing. But, I don't think I'm supposed to see you in a... personal capacity."

"Oh. So that's why you've been dodging me?" It was starting to makes sense. "And I'm making things a little harder on you right now 'cause I brought you to a date-type restaurant."

"Yeah," he sighed, looking one part relieved and one part frustrated.

"You know, it seems a little overkill for a personal profile piece for the sports section of a college paper," I ventured. He tensed and I was afraid I'd offended him. "But, if that's what you need to do…" I back-pedaled. "What about after the article goes to press?"

He stared at the table for a minute and then flicked his eyes up at me quickly. "We would be _allowed_ to see each other... personally... after the article goes to press." His response was far from encouraging. _Shit, I'm fucking this up._ I bucked up my courage and plowed on. "Have you talked to your editor about this?"

"Noo... why?" His eyes narrowed at me, and I was sure he was going to take offense now if I didn't word this carefully.

"I just really want to spend time with you, Edward. I guess I'm looking for a loophole here that will let me do that. Maybe you can get some advice from your editor?"

"Kate? I don't know." He was quiet for a minute before speaking again. "I mean, I'd have to let her know that I… that we… that I lost my personal detachment from the subject of my assignment." I was getting nowhere fast on this line of conversation. I decided to cut my losses for now and circle back around to it later.

"Okay, what's the other thing?" Edward seemed relieved at the change in topic. I felt my own shoulders drop in relative relaxation as the tension between us eased. That's why it felt like a sucker punch to the gut when he opened his mouth to reply.

"I was wondering how you would feel about disclosing your homosexuality in the article?"

I didn't know what I had been expecting, but that definitely wasn't it.

"For what purpose? You know I don't think that has anything to do with whether I'm an athlete or not."

"I know that you don't, Emmett, but there are still plenty of people who do. I think you'd make a hell of role model for gay students who are afraid to join athletics teams for fear of discrimination and bullying. And, what about the closeted gay students who are already on teams and feel like they have to hide?"

Oh.

_Oh._

I remembered that Royce fucker who terrorized Edward in high school for being gay. I remembered the shame in Edward's voice when he confided in me. The outline of pain on his features had been so clear, even in the dim light of the truck cabin as we drove back to Seattle in the dark.

Edward was silent, and I was grateful that he let me chew on my thoughts for a while.

I was out to my family, my friends and my coach. I even volunteered at the campus Q Center a few hours a month to offer support and advice for other gay students. I made no secret of my sexual orientation in general, but I didn't go loud and proud like some. I liked to say that it just wasn't my style. Honestly though, life could be hard enough sometimes, right? Sometimes it was just easier to… pass.

And that's the part right there where I made myself sick.

Still, the thought of going public in such a big way was scary, and not just because it would put me in the spotlight.

On the other hand, doing this would be a step -- a small step maybe, but a step nonetheless -- towards taking power away from guys like Royce. It was something that _I_ could do. _Me_. It would be worth the risk, to out myself in the Daily for everybody to read, in order to make things a little easier for the others out there like me, and like Edward. I wanted to do something to take away some of that shame Edward carried.

I took a deep breath, held it for a moment and then exhaled slowly. Nodding more to myself than to him, I looked Edward in the eye. "I'll do it."

Our food arrived, and I filled Edward in on my volunteer work. I thought that would be a good way to introduce my sexuality into the article and Edward agreed. The Q Center offered mentoring services, housed a lending library of books relevant to gender issues and human sexuality, and hosted a variety of monthly LGBTQ meetings for men and women, people of color, trans-genders, there was even a group called the Outlaws for queer law students. An idea sparked inside me that grew in purpose and intensity.

"Edward, when is your deadline?"

"Kate wants it for the Sunday online version and the Monday print edition. So that means I need to have it in her hands by Saturday night at the latest."

"Perfect. That should leave me just enough time to arrange everything," I grinned at him. We'd finished eating, and both of us were leaning in with our forearms flat against the table. "You get the angle you want for the article, and I get to advertise the Q Center's first monthly meeting of the new _queer athlete's alliance_."

Edward's face bloomed with enthusiasm. The shine of excitement in his eyes almost knocked me back in my seat. My throat was dry. I took a sip of my ice water before laying it all on the line.

"Look, straight up, I want to be with you, Edward. I want to see where this goes. But I can see that you need some time to think, and you need to talk to Kate and figure out what you're going to do about the ethics situation. Your writing is important to you, and you take journalism seriously. I respect that." I reached over to him and laid my hand on his forearm, squeezing once. "Just… please talk to Kate and see what she has to say?"

He searched my face for a moment then nodded. I waited to see if he would say anything more while he stared at the dishes on the table. Instead, he changed the subject. "What are we going to do with all this food?"

I stared at him incredulously. "Leftover Thai is the breakfast of champions, man!" He snorted, trying to hide his smirk behind his water glass, and I continued as he took a sip, "How do you think I keep my girlish figure?" I leaned back in my chair and ran my hands down my torso for effect. Edward sputtered into his glass and laughed full out. I loved the sound of it.

"Jesus, Em, warn a guy before you do that!" He mopped stray water from his face.

"No way. That was too much fun," I grinned.

We settled our bill and packed up our remainders into white paper cartons. Edward asked our waitress to split the tab, and I didn't make a fuss about it. I understood that buying him dinner right now would just add to his current dilemma.

The ride back to the U District was quiet but comfortable. Edward turned on the radio but asked if he could plug in my music player when the station broke for ads.

"Silversun Pickups? Nice." A smile tugged at my lips. I knew Edward was picky about music, and I'll admit it felt good to know that he approved of my taste.

We were approaching his apartment and I didn't know when I would see him again. I wanted to grab his hand, pull it across the console, and suck on the pad of his thumb. Instead, I kept both hands on the wheel and pulled into the lot for his building.

"Call me, okay?" I was looking at the dash, but I knew my voice was giving me away as I said it. I wasn't just asking Edward to call me about the article, and I figured he knew it. Looking up, I found him watching me closely. I swallowed. "Talk to Kate and call me?"

"Yeah," he breathed. "I'll talk to her tomorrow." I reached over to squeeze his shoulder once quickly and then I let him go. We were both silent as he let himself out of my truck and turned towards the door to his building. I was painfully aware that he had agreed to talk to Kate tomorrow, but he hadn't actually promised to call me.

* * *

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**A/N2: **And now, I totally get why using chapters for teasers and A/N's is discouraged. Replacing my preview chapter with the real thing didn't send a new alert so none of you knew it was there! I've kind of fixed things but ch2 is still just the placeholder preview. Sorry about that folks! Sigh.


	4. Kinetic, pt 2

**Disclaimer**: Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight. Dr. Seuss owns Yertle the Turtle.

**A/N**: Thanks to **Mac214** who helps me put my commas in the right places, and to my pre-reader **annetteskitty** who rocks out the pep talks and pimps this fic like crazy. She even made me a superhot blinkie for Potential – check out the link on my profile. Shout out to **winterstale** who keeps me honest and sends me great links for my research.

Happy Valentine's Day!

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I took a deep breath and held it for a moment, then let it out in one big gust.

"Emmett, what music are you listening to right now?" Rosalie asked me over the phone. Less than five minutes after my ass hit the couch I'd dialed her up. I hadn't gotten to talking about my failed date with Edward yet, but I was sure it was obvious that I was in a funk.

"A Perfect Circle."

"Oh Jesus, I'm coming over there. You've got beer?"

"There's a six of Pyramid in the fridge." My mood was improving incrementally just from the promise of good company.

"Just, whatever you do, don't play that Hooker with a Penis song on repeat again."

"That's Tool, Rosie," I scoffed. "Totally different band. And that's not even a depressing song! That's my angry music!"

"What the fuck ever, Em, it's still that mayonnaise guy."

"Wh-what?" I spluttered, shocked into sudden laughter. "Maynard. It's Maaay-nard." My belly was still shaking.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I just wanted to hear you laugh. I'll be there in, oh, twenty or so. Hang tight, Bear," she made a kissing noise into the phone before hanging up.

It didn't matter to Rosie if she had to spend the whole evening listening to me moan about things with Edward, or if we just put on a flick and passed the time. She always seemed to know what I needed. I'd meant it when I'd told Edward that Rosie was the best.

When I heard a knock on the door sometime later, I was still slouched on the sofa and listening to APC. "It's open!"

Rose greeted me by dropping a DVD in my lap. It was _Eddie Izzard: Dressed to Kill_ – a mutual favorite. I managed a grin and popped it into the player while she got us beers from the fridge. We started the movie in comfortable silence but pretty soon we were buzzed and laughing our asses off at the hijinks of Izzard's stand-up shtick.

About an hour into the DVD, Izzard starts to wax philosophical, and in the relative quiet my thoughts turned to Edward again. Rosie noticed of course and she paused the show.

"Alright, Bear, time to spill." And I did. She already knew that I was into Edward she had the general gist of our locker room lovin' down at PSU. So I filled her in on our dinner together tonight, Edward's reasons for dodging my calls, and his proposal. I capped it off with my fears about coming out publicly, my excitement and ideas for the queer athlete's alliance, and my general confusion over Edward's recent behavior.

Mostly Rose just listened while I talked things out for myself, though she had some good insights as well, and we talked until we were sober and tired. My throat was dry and scratchy from talking so much and we decided to call it a night.

"Thanks baby doll."

"Ug, you know you're the only one who ever gets away with calling me that." She was grumbling but I could see the smirk behind it.

"Well, you call me Bear, now doncha?"

"That's just tit for tat."

"Is that what they're calling it these days?"

"You're incorrigible sometimes, Emmett, I swear," she laughed and I felt the grin on my face widen. Rosalie has always gotten my sense of humor. She got _me_. She had been a great friend from day one and I realized that I didn't tell her nearly often enough.

"You know I love ya, Rosie, right?"

"Course I do. It's nice to hear it though." She snuggled into my side and gave me a squeeze. "I love you too, silly."

~oOo~

My Friday morning classes didn't start until ten o'clock, but I biked over to campus early to try to catch a few minutes with Coach. It was cool and misty with a few patches of blue sky breaking through the grey overhead, overall decent weather for biking because the cooler air kept my hard-working body from getting too sweaty. Once off the street and on the campus sidewalks, I stood up in my saddle for better low-speed control, weaving through pedestrians as politely as I could.

Eventually, I dismounted to walk my bike the rest of the way to the athletics building where Coach had his office. He had open office hours most weekday mornings unless there was practice or a meet scheduled so I was banking that he would have time for me before my first class. I chained my bike to a bench not far from the door and stretched out my hamstrings and calves while they were still warm before going inside.

Coach Banner's door was open when I got there. He was at his desk with a cup of coffee in one hand and a fistful of track stats in the other. I poked my head in and rapped twice on the door frame.

He looked up and nodded at me. "Mornin', Emmett," he drawled. "Come on in and have a seat." I pulled up a chair. It would be obvious to anyone that the man across from me was a coach. His coffee-colored face was weathered, especially around the eyes, he kept his hair buzzed into a flat-top and he wore his standard uniform of track suit over polo shirt emblazoned with the Huskies logo. On the wall above his head was a framed clipping from the Seattle Times last May when Huskies track took first at state. The headline read: It's a Banner Year.

That headline always made me grin. "Morning Coach."

"What's on your mind, son?" he set his papers down and gave me his full attention. It could have been condescending or demeaning the way Coach Banner addressed his athletes as "son" or "young lady" but anyone who knew him knew that the track team was his chosen family and those were truly terms of his endearment.

"Sir, do you remember the reporter from The Daily who came to our meet last weekend?" Likewise, the fact that most everyone called him sir had little to do with his Southern upbringing. He was tough and fair, accepting and kind, and had a soothing wisdom about him. In my mind, he'd earned every bit of the respect that title implied.

"I do. How's that profile coming along? I haven't seen it come out yet."

"It's supposed to get posted online Sunday and get published in the Monday print version, sir."

"Monday's a good circulation day for the sports section. You're gonna get noticed, son. Should get the track team a good bit of attention, too, I imagine."

"Yes, sir. I think it's going to get the Q Center some attention too." Coach knew that I was gay and that I volunteered with the Q Center to mentor other LGBTQ students. He was completely accepting of me and as a man of color he was familiar with the basic issues of discrimination queer men and women faced. He raised his eyebrows but waited for me to elaborate. "I, uh, I'm going to start a social support group for gay athletes and Edward is going to put it in the article."

Coach stood and walked around his desk to settle on the edge in front of me, his arms crossed over his chest. He had a pensive look on his face that softened when he spoke. "A social support group for gay athletes…" he repeated. "You never do choose the easy road, do you son? Good for you, Emmett, good for you."

I cleared my throat. "Thank you, sir."

"What can I do to help you be successful?"

"Well, Rosalie's of the opinion that I should talk to the team about it before it becomes news, and I agree with her. Do you think you could get me some time in front of the whole team before the article comes out?"

"We've got practice tomorrow afternoon. I can send out an email scheduling a mandatory meeting afterwards. Is that soon enough for you?"

"Yes, sir, that would be great."

"Anything else I can do for you today?"

"No sir," I said, rising to go. Coach stood also and pulled me into a one-armed hug, patting my back.

"Well you let me know. I'll support you in any way that I can."

~oOo~

After meeting with Coach, I took my bike over to the HUB and locked it up again before dashing to class. My Tools for Sustainable Cities class was often a hotbed of fascinating ideas that fired-up my brain. Today though I mostly listened and took notes rather than participating in the lively discussion. My head was already full of my own little revolution.

I went back to the HUB for a quiet lunch, opting for a sub sandwich and water and a sunny spot on the grass outside before I rode over to the Q Center. It was nice to see a familiar face at the staff desk when I arrived.

"Leah," I smiled, taking one of the seats across from her.

"Hey Emmett, what's up with you today? I don't have you on the schedule…"

"No I don't have any hours lined up today. I'm here to find out about setting up a new social meeting?"

"I can help you with that." She swiveled away slightly to face the computer monitor and clicked open a calendar program. "Do you want to use the lounge here or our conference room?"

I looked around the room and took in the familiar surroundings, thinking. The space was cozy and welcoming with lounge chairs and bean bags, deep-red walls hung with pride flags, art, and shelves of books. It wouldn't hold many people though. I was hoping that if the article Edward writes about me has much impact on my life at all, that at least one outcome will be good publicity for this meeting.

"Ah, the lounge is kind of small. I'm hoping for a good turn-out. Think I can book the conference room for the 25th?"

"Yep, I've got time available in the conference room any time after three pm that day. Got a time in mind?"

"Six o'clock? Maybe, six to eight and I'll bring some pizzas…" I trailed off, planning things in my head. Leah slid a piece of paper in front of me.

"Sounds good. Can you fill out a little paperwork on the meeting so I can put it on our website? I can make some handbills for you too, to hang up around campus and help get the word out. I can help you design it and then print them up."

I took the paper and the pen she offered and began filling in the form. "I think the word is going to be out already."

"How's that?" she asked. Leah was tilting her head so she could read the words I'd filled in under _group name_. "Queer Athlete's Alliance. Cool," she muttered quietly, as if speaking to herself.

"Well, there's going to be a profile on me in the sports section of The Daily and I'm going to announce the meeting in the article. Soo…" I scratched my chin, "I'm hoping that the free publicity will get a few folks here that night."

"Wow, Emmett, that's great! And really, really courageous. You're coming out publicly, in the sports section, which let's face it, gets a lot more readers than say, the editorials page." She rolled her eyes, chuckling lightly before her face turned serious. "You ready for this, Em? I mean, this is huge." Her nearly-black eyes looked me over kindly.

My mind flashed again over the dozens of possible ways this could impact me for better or for worse. In the end I always came back to the same thought though. There was nothing so special or unusual about me, I was just a plain turtle at the bottom of the stack and this was just a simple burp. Whether it brought down upon me the wrath of the guys further up or rocked the stack until Yertle landed in the mud, it felt good just to speak up and get counted. It felt right. "It is," I nodded seriously, and then I smiled at the exotic woman across the desk, "And, it isn't."

I checked the time on my cell. "Gotta make my next class."

"Well, I'm in again tomorrow from noon to three if you want to talk?"

"Thanks Leah." I reached over to tug affectionately on one of her long dark braids. She smirked and waved me out the door.

~oOo~

My next class was quite a trek from the building that held the office and conference room the Q Center used but I had just enough time to contact Edward and give him the details. The way the sun warmed my face and chest coaxed me to bask for a few minutes on the library steps in Red Square. I dug my ball cap out of my backpack to create enough shade so that I could see my cell phone screen properly to text Edward. I wasn't quite ready to hear his voice yet after last night.

_**deets: 1st qaa meeting mar 25, 6-8p, free pizza, q center conf room. lmk if u need more info 4 story.**_

He responded almost immediately.

_**That's terrific, Emmett! thank you.**_

_**do u have a mtng format planned?**_

That was an element that I hadn't really fleshed out yet. I was thinking that I'd start by telling people a little about myself and my experiences and then open it up for questions and discussion. I knew a guy on the soccer team that was out. Maybe I could get him to show up and introduce himself too? Leah played intramural tennis, and Rosie might speak up as an ally…

_**i guess i'll say a bit about me and then see what peeps want 2 talk about?**_

_**i think that sounds good. u will be great at it Em.**_

_**can i call u later 2nite?**_

_**yes. after 5 is good.**_

_**great. talk 2 u then.**_

After that I stretched my arms over my head and shook out some of the anxiety that was creeping up on me. I began my trek to class again, dialing Rosalie along the way to fill her in.

~oOo~

Once I was home for the day, I went straight to my desk and booted my computer. I wanted to work on some of my designs for class, and I didn't want to feel like I was waiting by the phone for Edward to call. I needed something to keep me busy.

Forty minutes later I was so engrossed in my work that the sound of the phone buzzing made me jump in my seat. My stomach flip-flopped when I saw Edward's name on the screen.

"Hello?"

"Emmett, hi."

"Hey," I breathed. I waited for him to start. After everything I'd said to him yesterday, everyone I approached today to set things in motion, all I'd talked out with Rosie last night, I was tired of being the one to speak up first.

Silent moments added up between us and still I waited. Edward cleared his throat once, then again, and finally he began to talk.

"I, um, I contacted the Q Center to confirm the meeting details you gave me. It sounds really great. I've already added it to the article. It'll be up Sunday by noon."

"You had to confirm the details?" What, didn't he trust me to get them right?

"It's nothing personal, Emmett, please don't be offended. Fact-checking is just part of my job description as a journalist."

"Oh." There was a selfish part of me that was starting to hate that Edward was such a dedicated journalist, but I beat it down reminding myself how much I actually respected him.

"I was wondering if it'd be okay with you if I attend the first couple of the meetings? Maybe do a follow-up blurb or even another article if things go well?"

I thought about his question. The continued press could be an asset to getting the word out around campus that there was a place students could talk about the specific issues they faced as queer athletes. At one point last night, Rosie and I had done some internet research to see if there were any other groups like this at other colleges. We'd found some great information on programs in Massachusetts and Pennsylvania and I was thinking about contacting their groups for pointers on starting ours here. We even found a website called Outsports whose sole focus was news about, features on, and profiles of gay athletes -- college, pro, and amateur. I'd never even known something like that existed.

So, yeah, continued press could be a really good thing for our group. Or it might just paint a bright red bulls-eye on us. I had to see what kind of attention we were facing before I could say for certain.

"Yeah, maybe. Let's see what kind of response I get from this article first?"

"Okay. I mean, sure, I get that." He paused. "I want you to know, Emmett, that I think you are doing a really amazing thing. I… I'm so proud to know you, Emmett."

"You are?" I asked quietly.

"I really am," he breathed. There was a level of emotion in his voice that seemed incongruent with the professional detachment he'd claimed to want. It was a chink in the armor and I wanted to pry at it to see if it would split.

"So tell me again why we can't see each other, Edward?"

He groaned softly and I couldn't decipher the meaning behind the sound.

"I guess I didn't really do a very good job of explaining myself last night, did I?" I heard a sound that I imagined was him scrubbing his hand over his face like I'd seen him do a few times before.

"Let's say, for argument's sake, that you are running for public office -- instead of a decathlon athlete -- and I'm assigned to cover your campaign. Now, you're a very charismatic guy, and if I let myself be wowed by your looks and personality, then I might let some of my fact-checking slide or neglect to dig into leads that paint you in a negative light. Worse yet, I could write persuasive articles that bias local readers to vote in your favor without having done the all the investigation I should have."

"Okay, I'm following you so far, but I'm not running for public office. And a public interest profile piece hardly qualifies as hard-hitting investigative journalism…"

"My ethics professor would say _this is an excellent real-life ethics exercise_. This… journalism… is what I want to do with my life, Emmett. I'm going to be faced with this kind of conflict, and I thought it would be stupid of me to ignore this opportunity to put my journalism ethics into practice." I thought I heard him mutter _especially since you definitely wowed me_ under his breath, but he asked me a question before I could ask him and find out.

"Emmett, Why did you suggest that I talk to Kate?"

_Huh?_

"I told you why. Did you talk to her?" Is this what a relationship with Edward would always be like? Would I always be putting myself on the line, setting myself up for his rejection?

"I mean, didn't you think this was a decision I could make by myself?"

"Huh? Ohhh… It's not that, Edward. I figured, I go to Coach when I've got a tough call to make and I'm struggling with it. It seemed like you were struggling. I thought, Kate, she's like Coach for you. I just wanted you to get the perspective of someone you trust and who knows what you're facing."

"What did you want me to say though, Emmett? _Hey Kate, I need your advice on keeping the journalism code of ethics on this article you assigned me 'cause I hooked up with my subject in the locker room after I got in a fist fight with two students from a rival school_?"

"So that's all it was to you? A hook-up?" Now I was getting mad.

"No, Emmett! Damn it, no." His voice was rising in pitch and volume. "It wasn't just a hook-up for me! But how can I explain to Kate that in less than 48 hours I totally fell for y—"

He cut off midsentence with a sharp inhale. Then a shuffling sound came over the line as if he was covering the phone with his hand. It was mostly quiet but I could just make out Edward's muffled cursing. _"Shit, shit, SHIT!"_

I was out of my chair and at the front door with keys in hand before I even knew what I was doing.

"Edward. _Edward._" He wasn't answering but I could hear him breathing so I figured he was listening. "I'm coming over there right now." I wrenched open the door, blew through it and locked up. "Stay put, you hear me?"

"Emmett—"

I took the stairs two at a time. "Uh-unh, we are not doing this over the phone. I'll be there in ten minutes."

"But—"

"Ten. Minutes." I snapped my phone shut, loped out the side door at the bottom of the stairs and headed for my Chevy. A part of my mind noticed the mild weather, perfect for biking, but I just wanted to get to Edward's as fast as possible.

Six minutes later I was cursing stoplights and Seattle traffic and wishing for my bike so that I could be taking shortcuts through parking lots.

Six minutes after that I was pounding on Edward's door. _Bang, bang, bang._

The door was opened by someone whose green eyes told me she had to be Edward's sister despite her black hair and small stature.

"You must be Emmett." She lifted up on her tiptoes to touch my cheek, drawing me into the apartment as she did. "Edward's in his room looking shell-shocked." Her eyes never left my face as she pointed towards an open bedroom door, a knowing smile on her lips. "Don't mind me. I'm just on my way out."

I think I managed a head nod and a mumbled _nice to meet you_ before the door clicked shut behind me.

I took a deep breath and walked towards the open door. Edward did indeed look shell-shocked. He was sitting on what I presumed was his bed, phone in one hand still raised half-way to his ear as if we'd just hung up. He was frozen and the utter silence between us had me doubting the sanity of my half-assed race over here. It all seemed rather anticlimactic. So it surprised the hell out of me when Edward stood, muttered _fuck it_, and threw his phone down on the bed so hard it bounced and slid to the floor.

When he started moving toward me, I was the one fixed in place.

He crossed the room, fisted his hand in my shirt and tilted his face up to mine. I was tensed in an excruciating anticipation but my mind and body were in agreement. I'd put it all on the line, I'd come running over here, and Edward would have to close that last inch between us now to prove how he felt.

In those romance novels Rosie read there was always some kind of spark or electricity when the potential lovers eventually kissed. No, when Edward finally pressed his mouth against mine it wasn't electric, it was fucking _kinetic_. It was a triggered spring that set us both in perpetual motion.

He pulled; I pushed. He fell backwards onto the mattress and dragged me with him. I shucked his t-shirt off him and followed as he scooted towards the middle of the bed. I dipped my head to reconnect our mouths. He clawed my ass and bucked his hips against me.

My hand went to his zipper; his teeth clamped down on my neck. We rolled back and forth over the bed, wrestling each other's clothes off, mouthing, licking, biting. His hands dove down the front of my pants; my head snapped back against the headboard.

It was friction, gravity... momentum.

There was no stopping this. It didn't even matter when we rolled off the bed and landed on the floor. I finished kicking Edward's jeans free of his feet; he wrapped his hands around my dick.

Lying on our sides, naked at last and already starting to sweat, I tangled my legs with his to draw him as close to me as I could get him. I fisted his erection loosely, pumping my hand over his cock from base to tip, trying to maximize sensation and minimize chafing. I felt the heat and pressure of Edward's grip shifting the skin of my shaft up and down over the turgid tissues underneath, stopping every third stroke or so to dance and twist over the sensitive head.

Our knuckles brushed past each other and against each other's bodies in the tight space between us, adding another layer of friction and heat.

"Lube?" I grunted.

"Fuck, yes," he groaned, reaching up to the nightstand next to our heads. When he'd found the bottle and snapped open the lid, I let go of him long enough to hold out my hand so he could pour some into my palm. I warmed the slick gel in my hand for a moment, and then I gripped him again. I began to rotate my fist around his shaft, pausing to slide up and over the head, coating him with lube. He hummed appreciatively. The sound made me grin until the erotic feel of his slippery hands on my cock wiped the smile off my face and made my eyes roll back in my head.

When I could see again, I grabbed Edward by the back of the neck with my free hand and drew him into a kiss. We stayed just like that for a while, kissing deeply and tasting one another, while jacking each other with languid strokes. Between kisses I ran my mouth over his jaw and my hand up into his hair, learning the feel of him and shuddering when Edward grazed my neck with his teeth. I inhaled deeply, nuzzling my nose down his neck to his shoulder and armpit, memorizing his smell.

Eventually I felt Edward's grip on me shift as he rolled slightly away to settle his top shoulder against the wall behind his back. In this position both of his hands were free and he used them both on me. He began pressing one fist tightly down over the tip of my erection and smoothed it down my shaft. As soon as one fist cleared the head, the other was at the ready, moving fluidly down over my tip. It felt like perpetual penetration and the unique sensation had the muscles in my belly tense and quivering.

I struggled against the mental images of sliding so deeply and so exquisitely into Edward's tight depths and tried to concentrate on bringing him as much pleasure as he was giving to me. With my free hand I nudged Edward to bend the knee of his top leg and give me more access. Once he acquiesced and got comfortable, I tickled his balls with lightly dragging fingers. Edward inhaled sharply, his body twitching. I cupped his balls tenderly in my hand and twisted my wrist minutely, drawing slow circles with my fingertips through the hair around the base of his sac. He released his held breath in a long and stuttering, "Oh-oh-oh-ohhhhh."

Edward surprised me then when his hands on me changed their direction. Instead of feeling like I was pressing constantly deeper into his fists, now I was experiencing the longest out-stroke ever. His movements were practiced and continuous, milking my cock until my whole body was tingling.

Desperately I fumbled over my head with my free hand for the lube on the nightstand, popping the cap with my thumb and single-handedly squeezing some gel into my palm. I managed to pop the cap closed again before dropping it unceremoniously back on the table. I clenched my hand and worked the lube from my palm over my fingers. As soon as they were thoroughly coated I went straight for Edward's ass. I could feel my climax on the horizon and there was no way I was going to let him send me over the edge without taking him with me.

I tried to keep my strokes over his shaft constant with one hand as I rubbed the sensitive skin of his entrance with the other. Savage and slick, my fingers circled quickly, encouraged by the sounds of pleasure Edward huffed in my ear. I felt the ring of muscle loosen and begin to pulse under my touch. His body was primed and greedy and I took that as my invitation, crossing my first two fingers and pressing them into his opening. Edward reversed directions and I grunted at the change, the continuous up-stroke becoming a relentless down-stroke again. I sank into his body with my fingers as he took my cock in his fists, both movements tortuously slow. The head of my cock was acutely sensitive and I labored to keep my attention on Edward as I twitched and bucked under his hands.

Inside him, I pressed up and wiggled, searching for that sweet spot and wringing a keening cry from Edward when I found it. Edward whined when I withdrew my fingers slowly, but he was placated and gasping when I plunged into him again shortly after. I set up a rhythm of thrusting and stroking in sync, pausing periodically to twist my palm over the head of his cock while I massaged his prostate internally. I varied the number of strokes randomly between pauses, both to keep Edward on edge and to rely on the concentration required to stave off my orgasm as long as I could. I couldn't predict when Edward's hands would switch from devouring me to milking me and back again and it was driving me ruthlessly to my orgasm.

Everything about this moment was fiercely beautiful and I didn't know where to focus my attention. I wanted to see it all and memorize every detail – his hands on my cock sliding fist over fist, the ripple of muscle in his torso, my hand on his cock purple and seeping, the furrow of his strong brow over tightly closed eyes while his mouth hung open in a perpetual moan, my fingers disappearing into his body behind his tightened sac… I couldn't hold out any longer.

"Fuck Edward! Go with me, please, baby. _Please._" I whined, jacking him furiously now and sawing my fingers back and forth over his prostate. He cried out sharply and I finally felt his hot come hit my stomach.

"God, yes!" I shouted, letting go at last, the product of my own release coating Edward's still-moving hands. I withdrew my fingers from him slowly and stroked my fingers over his balls lovingly, trying to use my caresses to thank him for the amazing experience he'd just given me. I snaked my other arm under his head and wrapped him up as close to me as I could get him.

I was a shaky, sweaty mess, and as hot as it was in the small space we'd fallen into between the wall and the bed, I couldn't loosen my hold around Edward. I clutched him tightly, struggling to get my breathing under control and have enough air in my lungs to kiss him better than the weak pecks I pressed into the damp crook of his neck.

"Jesus Christ, you're amazing!" Edward panted. "And I'm such a jerk. I don't even know why you bother with me."

"Shut up," I laughed and kissed him again.

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A/N2: My apologies for all the text-speak. ;p

_**Yertle the Turtle**_ is one of my all-time favorite children's stories. It's by Dr. Seuss and if you've never read it, give it a shot. It's a funny little picture book that sowed the seeds of revolution and social justice in my heart as a wee little girl and holds a very special place there still.

Please click that little green button and let me know what you are thinking.


	5. Kinetic, pt 3

**A/N**: Thank you **mac214**, **annetteskitty**, and **winterstale** for believing this fic is worth your time and energy. XOXOX

**Disclaimer**: SM owns Twilight. UW owns the Q Center. Outsports(dot)com owns itself. This little tale owns me. ;p

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"Emmett?" The sound of Edward's whisper jolted me out of my half-dreaming state, and I felt his body shifting.

"Mmm?"

"Let's get cleaned up." I opened my eyes and pulled my head back from his shoulder. I answered the small smile on his face with my own happy grin and nod. We tumbled awkwardly out of the cramped space, Edward smirked when I laughed and playfully slapped my chest. He peeked his head out the door of his room and declared the coast clear, so we high-tailed our naked butts into the bathroom he shared with his sister Alice. She hadn't returned, and I had a sneaking suspicion she was giving us plenty of time alone to sort things out.

"Shower?" he asked. The smirk was gone, replaced with a look of vulnerability that I wanted to kiss off his face. I smiled at him reassuringly as I agreed. While I washed my hands at the sink, he started the water, holding his hand in to test the temperature. His back was to me, and I took the opportunity to enjoy looking him over.

He was lanky and lean, with shoulders that were just broad enough and tapered just right to his narrow hips. Edward claimed to be only a fair weather cyclist, but those legs were definitely strong from biking or something, and that muscled ass was definitely smack-able.

He'd been awfully quiet, though I guess I had as well, but there seemed to be a slight droop to the set of his shoulders. I wondered what he was thinking. Was he regretting this? Was he nervous about something?

I dried my hands and stepped closer to him, rubbing my hands over his back. "Edward?"

His reaction was instant. He pressed himself back into my chest, heedless of my still-sticky condition, and reached back for me, wrapping his hands around my hips. I didn't realize I'd been holding my breath until I heard it whoosh out in a light moan at his touch. My hands smoothed over his shoulders, crossing his chest, and I latched onto the spot where his neck met his shoulder with my mouth. The tension there ebbed as I sucked at the muscle.

Edward was humming when he turned his face toward me, angling for a kiss. Who was I to deny him?

"Water's ready," he whispered, breaking the kiss. He took my hands and led me in.

It was just your standard apartment bathroom with a five foot tub, and it should have been cramped with the two of us in there together. It _was_ a tight fit, really, but I wasn't having my usual reaction to narrow spaces, even given the mental and emotional exhaustion of the long day. Maybe it was the curved shower curtain rod that gave the feeling of a little more room, or maybe it was the happiness of being with Edward that was keeping the anxiety at bay. Maybe it was all those endorphins released by the seriously fuck-hot orgasm he'd given me. _Or maybe I should just enjoy the moment and figure it out later._

I was seriously wiped out and completely sated, but I still wanted my hands on him, anywhere, everywhere. I wrapped my arms around his waist this time. Edward was nice and tall, around six feet or so, and just the right size for me to slouch comfortably with my chin resting on his right shoulder. He reached up to angle the showerhead so it hit us more on the left side and kept our faces out of the spray.

"You okay?"

"Am now," he murmured, covering my forearms with his hands to show me he liked the way I was holding him. I tightened my left arm around him and snaked my right hand out, palm up.

"Which soap is yours?" There were a confusing number of products on the shower caddy that made me think of the hall bathroom I shared with Nessie back home.

He grabbed an oddly-shaped disc of soap that had bits of stuff in it that looked like... oatmeal? I moved a bit to peek at his face. Edward merely shrugged. "Alice makes it."

"Hmm…" I was dubious, but I sniffed it anyway, surprised it actually smelled really good. There was something spicy and earthy that was rather sexy, with the homey smell of oatmeal underneath.

I lathered my hands until I had a big pile of suds and passed the bar back to him. He copied me and put the soap back on its shelf. My hands slid easily over his chest and abs. Edward's hands slipped back to me again, soaping up my hips and thighs wherever he could reach. He felt so damn good under my hands.

I wanted him to feel as good as I did right now. I knew what was going on between us was far from settled, but I could show him how right being together could be.

I had strong hands, and I took advantage of that fact, cupping and kneading the muscles of his chest and shoulders. Occasionally I let my fingertips circle one nipple as the other hand worked out a knot. When I did, his head would drop back onto my shoulder or his hands would tighten on my ass. My soapy fingers stroked up the lines of his neck and around to massage that bit of skull behind his ears, satisfied I was doing right when I heard him purr.

Holding him steady at the waist, I nudged the back of his left leg with my knee so he would put his foot up on the edge of the tub. When I was sure he had his balance, I flattened one hand against his flank and one against his belly. I inched my palms down his body until I had him in my grip, lathering him the way I would myself, though perhaps more gently.

"This okay?" I whispered into his ear, watching his chest rise and fall under his labored breath.

He nodded and slipped his own hands between our bodies to wash me in return. We explored with our hands, and though it was both intimate and gratifying, it wasn't purely sexual. We were quiet with each other. Our touches alternated between teasing and tender as we turned to kiss or took turns under the spray. I knew it could be this way all the time if we could find a way to make _us_ work. This was just too good to give up on.

Our fingertips started to look like raisins, so Edward shut off the water and grabbed clean towels from under the sink for each of us. When I was dry, he kissed me hard one last time before shooing me off to his room.

"I just need another minute here," he said, fingering his contacts lens case. "I don't know when Alice will be back, but we can hang out in my room." I tucked the towel around my waist and padded back down the hall with a yawn.

Pulling on my shorts, I settled myself onto his bed on my back. I left my pants and our other bits of clothing where they'd landed in our earlier haste. They could stay there. I threw an arm over my eyes and grinned to myself.

Our clothes looked good on his floor.

~oOo~

Something tickled my side, just over my hip bone, and I squirmed. The arm slung over my face was stiff as I drew it back, as if it had been there too long. I tried to raise my hands to scrub them over my bleary eyes, but one was pinned under something warm and heavy. Hot breath and something soft – lips? – skimmed my jaw. Edward chuckled quietly, and I twitched in surprise.

"Finally waking up?" he teased.

"Mmm," I grunted, rolling towards him. I gathered him up, nuzzling my face into his neck and slinging one leg over his.

"Did I sleep long?" I mumbled, my voice still thick from sleep.

"About an hour, I guess."

I was too groggy to figure out from his voice alone how he felt about the fact that I fell asleep in his bed after sex, but I felt embarrassed. I tucked my face deeper into his chest and whispered, "Sorry."

"Don't be," he whispered back, and when I felt his arms close around me tighter, I relaxed in relief.

The light coming from the window had faded considerably since I'd arrived. Though the sun wouldn't set for an hour or so by my calculations, his east facing window had lost its light for the day. I lay there with him in the half-light, waiting to see which one of us would break the soft silence.

"I'm really glad you came over," Edward murmured.

I pulled back to look at him. I could tell he was serious, but part of me was still worried he'd flip-flop away from me again. I had to see if he would answer that lingering question. "Even though we're breaking your code of ethics again?"

I watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed once before speaking softly. Despite the feel of his arms tight around me, I was afraid of the rejection that might be in his eyes. In my periphery I could tell he was partially covering his face with one hand.

"I can't stay away from you, Emmett. And I don't even want to try anymore." My gaze darted up to his face involuntarily. I could see that the admission cost him. He was waiting to see how I would react.

I said nothing, but I tugged his hand away from his face so we were looking at each other unobstructed. It seemed that small gesture was enough to spur him to action. He leaned in slowly but with intention, and his kiss was soft but determined.

His mouth pressed against mine, and I let him lead, paying attention to everything he was trying to say to me without words. His lips opened and closed minutely over mine again and again, with just the faintest hints of grazing teeth and soft, wet tongue. He held me by the back of my neck, rubbing his full bottom lip back and forth across mine and teasing the crease between my lips with the tip of his tongue. I felt a flush of heat pass over my body in a wave, and my heart raced. I opened to him, swallowing his quiet moan as he dipped in to taste my mouth.

His pointed tongue flicked delicately over my teeth and my palate. The effect was maddening and utterly delicious. I threaded my fingers into the short hair at the back of his neck and pulled him closer, increasing the pressure behind the kiss. I couldn't get enough of his mouth on mine, and we seared each other with fierce and hungry kisses until we both relented, panting.

I rolled away slightly and flopped onto my back with a forced exhale and no little regret. I was hard again, but I ignored it. There was still more to be said. "So, what happens now?"

"Whatever we want," he answered quietly.

"Is that so?" It was tempting to play off the gravity of the moment with innuendo, but I knew I'd be mad at myself later if I left without knowing where we really stood. "What changed?"

He closed his eyes and gulped, took a breath in, and opened his eyes to mine. "When I tried to talk to Kate today… I was trying so hard to pretend I could control… the effect you were having on me. That avoiding you could keep it out of my writing – keep it out of my work. And when I was trying to tell her what happened without, you know, telling her what _happened_…"

He drew up one knee and started to drum the fingers of his left hand against it. My eyes followed the movement, taking in the bronze dusting of hair on his thigh, noticing how it thickened on his calf and shin. I waited. I needed him to say it.

He exhaled heavily. "And I realized that… more than just wanting you even… I _want_ to be affected by you."

I had to reach up and touch that hesitant smile. "You're not the only one who fell hard last weekend, Edward."

"I'm sorry I was such a jerk…" I stopped him with my fingers.

He kissed my fingertips and then took my hand and laced our fingers together on the bed between our chests. We lay there for a moment, just quiet.

"It's not like avoiding you this week even helped. Kate still had to edit out nearly half of what I wrote about you just to get it down to 20 column inches." He snorted, remembering their conversation, I guessed. "She also said I was too biased, and I could only keep the parts where I had quotes to back up my observations and statements."

"Is that going to make trouble for you?"

He shook his head. "As it turns out, there are lots of folks who have something to say about the infamous Emmett McCarty," he teased.

I blanched. "Way to make me feel self-conscious, Edward."

"Hey," he said softly, rolling towards me. He crooked one of his legs around one of mine, leaning his weight on his forearm next to my head. "Everyone I saw you with, everyone I spoke to about you last weekend and since we got back had nothing but good and kind things to say about you. That's definitely not something you need to be worrying about, okay?"

Easier said than done. I changed the subject. "So the article is finished?"

He nodded. "I gave Kate two versions. One mentions the Q Center, and the other one doesn't. You have at least 24 hours to make a final decision."

"I gave you my answer already at dinner last night, and today I made all the arrangements for the QAA. What makes you think I would change my mind now?"

"You can still start the QAA even if I don't mention it in the article. It's a fantastic idea regardless, and it wouldn't have much more impact on the number of people who know about your sexual orientation than your volunteer work already does." Edward was watching me with a soft expression as I considered his words.

"I'm not naïve, Emmett. I know how big this is, what you're about to do. I mean, the Q Center has been in The Daily before with pictures of volunteers and quotes from them. You probably know I cover them occasionally in my column on campus political activism. So you won't be the first person at UW even this year to align yourself publicly with a queer rights cause in the paper. In that respect you're not alone. But as a prominent athlete in Division I sports… what you'd be doing _is_ groundbreaking and courageous and _risky_. And I really need you to know I would never think any less of you if you chose not to do this." He stopped to kiss me again and then buried his face in my neck for a moment. I could feel him inhaling deeply and breathing me in.

"I had more than one reason for keeping my distance, Emmett. Journalism ethics was part of it, but another part was more important. I presented you with the idea of coming out as a gay athlete because the possibilities for positive impact are _huge_ and because I admire you _so much_. But it has to be your choice 100 percent. I didn't want you to feel pressured one way or another because of what was or wasn't going on between us. I just… I went about it all wrong, I guess." He looked me in the eye. "You don't have to do this for me or because of me. I want to be with you no matter what you choose."

There was a lump in my throat that I was having trouble swallowing away. It felt like I finally had the answers to my questions, and Edward's confusing behavior finally made sense. I didn't necessarily agree with every choice, but I understood his reasoning.

And knowing he wanted me no matter what made me feel like I was lit from within.

~oOo~

Edward was banging around in the kitchen, assessing the food situation. We'd both gotten dressed when he got a text on his phone from Alice asking if it was "safe for her to come home without getting an eyeful."

I stood at the bar and watched him open cabinets and close them. Finally he turned to me and asked, "Pizza? It might forever to get here though." I agreed with him; pizza delivery on Friday night in the U District could be a long wait.

"You got anything we can snack on while we wait for the pizza? I'm kind of starving actually."

"Um…" He looked around blankly for a minute. "Nachos?"

"Yeah, man, sounds good."

We conferred quickly on pizza toppings, and Edward made the call. He ordered a large, all-meat pie for us and a veggie one for Alice and her boyfriend, Jasper. Apparently I would be meeting them both since he was coming over with her tonight to hang out.

Edward nuked leftover taco meat and some cheese sauce and bean dip from jars, then scattered the toppings over a tray of tortilla chips. We brought it to the coffee table with the rest of the bag and some salsa. I could hear my mama's voice in the back of my head nagging me to eat something besides junk food, but I had worked up too much of an appetite to care. I just needed to _eat_.

When I had decimated more than my fair share under Edward's watchful smirk, I finally felt as if my blood sugar was balanced out again. I knew I ate a lot. Maybe I should slip a few extra bucks into the pile of cash for the pizza money when he wasn't looking.

We were just shooting the shit and waiting for the pizza, talking about our favorite bands and shuffling through the music on Edward's player. Then he changed the subject out of the blue. "Are you nervous about the article?"

I looked over at him to see _he_ looked nervous.

"Yeah," I nodded, "a little." He was waiting for me to elaborate, but I wasn't sure what more to say. I figured we both knew what the absolute worst case scenario could look like. I mean, who hadn't heard what happened to Matthew Shepard, right? But it wasn't 1998 anymore and this _was_ the left coast after all – Seattle's a pretty liberal town and UW was a pretty progressive university. And I already knew Coach Banner was gonna back my play. That alone gave me a huge boost of confidence.

"I'm nervous for you." He was worrying a hangnail anxiously. "Sometimes I think this is a stupid idea. That's why I gave Kate two versions of the article…" he said, trailing off. He was fidgeting, and I wondered if he needed reassurance that I understood the choice I was making – that I wasn't just doing it because he'd asked me to or because we'd gotten together.

"Hey, I want to show you something. Can I use your laptop for a sec?" He nodded and got it from his room.

"Check out this website Rosie and I found last night." I brought up Outsports in his internet browser and pointed out a section of headlines on the front page. Was it all good news on the front page? Of course not, but these particular stories had been running through my head on repeat every time I felt a flicker of worry or self-doubt about what I was going to do.

Edward read them aloud over my shoulder as I pointed. "College lacrosse captain comes out… College soccer player out to team… College football captain was out… in 2000?" His voice was surprised and excited.

"That last story is my favorite. Think of it – an openly gay Division II football captain leads his team to the state championship in 2000? It's 2010 now, and this was happening _ten fucking years ago_. Why don't we hear more stories like this today?" My hands were waving in the air. "This guy's a lawyer now and drafting non-discrimination clauses for the Philadelphia Bar Association and shit. He's making real change, you know?"

I must have looked ridiculous, but I was feeling kind of high on the ideas swirling around in my head. Thoughts of the bad shit that _might_ happen, with or without an article, were shoved aside by the anticipation of the good shit that _could_ happen. I clicked on the link to more coming out stories, not to read right now, but just to show him. There were forty or so more of those headlines, from college and community athletes to college coaches. There was an ex-NBA basketballer and two former NFL players. There was a lacrosse goaltender that came out at Dartmouth and got signed to the pros when he graduated.

"More stories should be there, giving other people hope and positive examples, just like these stories are doing for me." Edward's knee was bouncing, and there was a gleam in his eye that made me think he was right there with me. It nearly knocked the wind out of me. I pressed him into the back of the couch and stole a kiss.

"That's what I think about when I get nervous," I told him. "That's when I know I'm doing the right thing." I was a breath away from saying something cheesy and stupid, like asking him to change the world with me, but the sound of a key in the door saved me in the nick of time.

~oOo~

Alice walked in then, and I got a better look at her this time around. I'd been a little distracted when I'd arrived. She was petite and had the same green eyes as Edward, both details I remembered. This time I saw the heavy black eyeliner around those eyes. I noticed her short spiky hair was mostly black, but there was a hint of that same reddish brown as Edward's at the roots. Her clothing was rather utilitarian and all black as well – snug t-shirt, fitted jeans that were smudged and frayed in a few spots, and strangely rugged boots on her tiny feet.

"Hi, Emmett." She smirked at me.

"Hello, Alice, nice to see you again." I tried to flash a charming smile. Between that text and the devilish look on her face, it was clear she knew exactly what we'd been up to this evening and wouldn't hold back on the teasing if it struck her fancy.

She danced over and surprised me with a kiss on my cheek, taking a moment to whisper in my ear, "You smell like my soap." Before I could respond or even work up a blush, she had turned to her brother.

"Oh my God, Edward, you didn't _cook_ for him, did you? You just got him!" I had to raise an eyebrow at that as she continued. "Already you're trying to kill him?"

The guy who'd entered with Alice laughed while Edward threw his wadded up paper towel at her and missed. "I just made nachos. I thought I'd wait and let you poison him with one of your garden burgers or tempeh lettuce wraps," he sniped back.

"Mmm, tempeh lettuce wraps," Jasper hummed.

"Kiss-ass," Edward laughed.

"Hey now, I resemble that remark," he retorted, grabbing Alice's tiny tush.

Alice swatted her boyfriend with one hand, flipped off her brother with the other hand, and started introductions at the same time, never missing a beat.

"Emmett, this is Jasper. Jasper, meet Emmett." Jasper greeted me with a salute and a grin as Alice pushed him into the arm chair next to the sofa and plopped onto his lap.

"Pizza's going to be here soon, I think, Ali. We ordered veggie for you two."

"Of course you did, oh brother dear."

Her grin was coy, and she swung her feet lightly. They didn't quite touch the floor from where she was perched on Jasper's knee. Her shoes were kind of fascinating me. "Alice, are those _steel toed_ Docs you're wearing?"

~oOo~

I liked seeing Edward with his sister. He was relaxed and free with his emotions around her, and it was pretty mesmerizing. I took a moment to play the observer and watch the expressions of his thoughts play across his face. A happy grin snapped into gaping disbelief that slid into teasing smirk as they bantered.

We'd gathered in the kitchen to dish up the pizza. When his conversation with Alice lulled, he leaned back against the wall across from me to speak with Jasper. His hands were in his pockets, and my eyes wandered over him. His hair was standing up a bit on top, and his brow was drawn over pensive eyes – not brooding, just genuinely interested in what Alice's boyfriend was saying. The line of his jaw was razor sharp, and his mouth was almost pouty without looking sulky. He looked downright illegal. Edward Cullen was like my very own James Dean in living color, and my mouth was watering.

Alice's quiet tittering interrupted my train of thought. I tried to conjure a suitably chagrinned expression for being caught eye-balling her brother like he was something to eat, but she just snorted and handed me a plate.

~oOo~

Jasper pulled his own laptop out of its case and set it on the coffee table while we ate.

"I finished a new clip today. S'okay if I play this now?" he asked us. Jasper explained to me he was a sophomore at Cornish College studying video art and animation. The clip he wanted to show us was meant to be part of a larger segment put together by a group of students. Coincidentally, it featured Alice.

The opening shot showed Alice outfitted similarly to the version of her sitting next to me, except for the addition of a leather apron, heavy mitts, and a protective facemask straight out of Flashdance. Scenes of Alice in the process of creating a metalwork sculpture were artfully melded with shots of her directing its installation into the student gallery. The necessity of her miniscule steel toed shoes had become more than apparent.

The piece was a gathering of four, no five, people facing each other in a circle, their nude bodies pressed closely to one another with arms reaching high into the air. Elongated bodies made up the trunk of a tree where arms became branches and hands became leaves. Ankles and feet became roots that spread out along the floor. Her sculpture was easily larger than me, and it had a beauty that was powerful and refined at the same time.

"Seriously?" I knew my mouth was hanging open, but I couldn't quite do anything about that at the moment.

"What?" she asked, looking defensive.

"I'm just… and you… I mean, you're in your first year, right?" Words failed me. "How are you even…?" I gave up and wrapped an arm around her, squeezing tight once and backing off so she could breathe. "It's fucking _fantastic_, Alice."

I looked down into her face and was surprised to see Edward's feisty sister look almost shy. "There's not much to do in Forks, especially in the summer. The economy is pretty depressed there so not much in the way of summer jobs for teens either, you know? But they have welding classes at the college in Port Angeles, and there's a guy who does ironwork sculpture down at the rez. He let me apprentice with him last summer." She shrugged as if that explained everything.

~oOo~

We hung out, the four of us gabbing and watching silly videos on YouTube, until I noticed it was nearly midnight. I was tempted to drag Edward back to his room for a while, but I also knew I wanted to crash out hard in my own bed for the next eight to ten hours. It'd been a hell of day, and I had practice tomorrow.

I'd limited my beer-drinking to just the one, so I knew I was okay to drive. It took a good bit of alcohol to get me drunk anyway given my frame, which had its pros and cons frankly. Edward, on the other hand, was a little tipsy and a lot flirty when I made him walk me out to my truck.

"Stay," he mumbled into my neck, pulling me towards him by the waist of my pants.

I ran my hands over his chest and arms, trying to memorize the feel of him before I left. "Can't tonight, baby. Gotta get some sleep."

"You can sleep here." I hated the idea of killing the hopeful look on his face, so I tried to let him down gently.

"I don't believe you." I smirked and pulled back to rake my eyes over him from head to toe and back up again. "If I stayed tonight, neither of us would get a wink of sleep before dawn."

He fucking moaned, and the wanton sound went straight to my dick. I scrubbed my hands over my face and continued before I lost my resolve.

"I've got practice tomorrow and after that I tell the team about the article."

That snapped him out of it. "Oh! Why didn't you say something before? Do… do you want me to be there?" He took my hand and squeezed.

"Nah, I'm good. I do want to see you tomorrow though. I'll call you after and we'll make plans?"

He nodded, and I turned to climb into the truck then, but he stopped me.

"One more thing before you go."

"Oh yeah, what's that?" I asked, noticing the mischievous glint in his eye.

"One last kiss. For luck."

Hell if I was going to say no to that.

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A/N: Voting for the Slash Awards is now open and I'm beyond tickled that Potential was nominated for the category Best Hand Job. There are some really delicious fics over there, so take your time to check them out. I promise you won't be disappointed! http://theslashawards . blogspot . com/

Also, I wanted to address a concern voiced by a recent reviewer (thank you, dear reader! :) over use of the word queer in this story. It is definitely a word that has been used in hurtful and damaging ways. It's also a word that has been reclaimed by the LGBTQ community. In fact, the Q in LGBTQ and in Q Center is for queer. The Q Center is a real facility on the UW campus, and they host such groups as the Queer Straight Alliance, the Queer Men's Group, and the Queer People of Color Alliance. They also host a 1 credit class called Queer 101. You can check them out here: http://depts . washington . edu/qcenter/

Reviews = love…


	6. Fused, pt 1

**A/N: **On March 9th I just about dropped dead with surprise when I saw that **Team Anything Goes** from the** Perv Pack's Smut Shack** had reviewed this story. I was squealing like a little girl and bouncing on my toes like a fanfic Alice. Thank you, ladies. Best heart attack evar. ;)

Love and kisses to my beta **Mac214** and my pre-readers **winterstale** and **annetteskitty**. They keep me sane and make sure you get the best chapters I can write. Any mistakes left are all mine.

**Disclaimer:** SM owns Twilight. Anything else you recognize belongs to the respective authors/owners. The rest is mine.

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There is a song for this chapter: 'Origin of Love' by Hedwig and the Angry Inch  
http://preview(dot)tinyurl(dot)com/d24ug

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I leaned back against the cool metal of Emmett's truck, blocking the driver's side door, and pulled him to me by the waist of his cargo pants. The loose-cut style of them might have concealed the figure of a lankier guy like me, but I'd been ogling the way his thick thighs and muscular ass filled out his clothing all night. Damn, he was _solid_.

I took off my glasses and slid them by one arm into the back pocket of my jeans, making sure they were off to the side so they wouldn't get crushed. The crook of Emmett's neck was made for my face, and I nuzzled against him, right _there_, nudging my nose just under the collar of his t-shirt.

He smelled amazing, and I did not want him to go home.

"Stay."

I felt lazy and loose in my bones from the beer, but the feel of Emmett's heavy hands chafing warmth into my arms and chest induced a tense excitement low in my belly. It didn't matter to me how many hours we'd already spent together today, I just wanted him to stay. I didn't care how soon it was. I just wanted him.

"Can't tonight, baby. Gotta get some sleep."

I tipped my head back and looked up at him, protesting. "You can sleep here."

He smirked at me. I wanted to lick those dimples, or maybe take a bite out of the rounded flesh of his cheek. Just a little bite, he looked like he would taste really good.

"I don't believe you. If I stayed tonight…" His eyes travelled over my body, and my skin tingled as if he was touching me. "Neither of us would get a wink of sleep before dawn."

I closed my eyes and was assaulted by mental images of dragging him back upstairs, wrestling his shirt off him, pressing him down onto my bed, maybe undoing his zipper with my teeth… I may have moaned aloud.

"I've got practice tomorrow, and after that I tell the team about the article." The bubble of images popped.

"Oh! Why didn't you say something before?" I pushed off the truck and laced my hand into his. "Do… do you want me to be there?" I felt like a jerk. It hadn't occurred to me that he would talk to his team before the article went to press.

"Nah, I'm good. I do want to see you tomorrow though. I'll call you after and we'll make plans?" I tried to gauge his expression. Wasn't he anxious?

I nodded slowly, trying to process the new information, and he turned to get into the Chevy. I was worried for him, and though my body was responding slowly, my mind had switched gears quickly. I tried to put myself in his shoes, to imagine what he would be walking into tomorrow. I didn't know enough to make more than a hazy guess, but surely he would have some support, considering the way his team respected him already and the way he spoke so fondly of his coach. I fervently hoped this assumption was true.

If I couldn't be _there with him_, at least I could show him that I was _here for him_. "One more thing before you go."

"Oh yeah, what's that?" he asked, smiling and shaking his head ruefully. He looked tired, but he didn't look irritated by my stalling. I intended to make sure he didn't regret letting me keep him a little bit longer.

"One last kiss. For luck."

I raised my hands to Emmett's shoulders and pressed lightly to indicate that he should turn and sit his butt down on the edge of the truck's front seat. He acquiesced, stretching his legs out before him in a wide stance, and I stepped up between his thighs. Our faces and hips aligned perfectly. I couldn't quite see the blue of his eyes as we paused, silent and still, under the hazy yellow light of the streetlamp, but I knew the exact shade of them by memory. His small smile was almost shy as I looked at him, fingering the slight curls at the nape of his neck, scratching lightly with my blunt nails.

I smoothed my thumbs along the underside of his jaw and tilted his face slightly up to meet mine as I leaned in. The only dimple showing was the tiny divot in his chin, nearly obscured by the evening shadow of his stubble. My lips parted slightly as I pressed a lush kiss against the spot. The prickle of stubble on my lips was erotic, and the tip of my tongue darted into the dimple to feel the sandpaper roughness, to taste the salt.

Emmett dipped his head to capture my top lip between his. His movements made my lower lip drag wetly up his bristly skin, and the tingling under my own skin returned. Miniscule tremors of cold and heat rippled up my arms, across the back of my shoulders, and up the back of my neck raising the hairs there. He sucked my lip further into his mouth; I let my tongue tickle softly against his bottom lip.

My hands slid down Emmett's neck and across his broad back to wrap myself around his shoulders as I turned and tilted my head to deepen the kiss. Emmett drew me even closer, crushing me to his chest, folding me into his arms. We took turns tasting each other, and I marveled again how easy it came, how natural it was between us. At first we kissed deeply with tongues and the soft scrape of teeth, then progressively more shallowly with tiny nibbles and licks. I turned my head again, trailing my lips over his face, finding the line where stubble-roughened skin turned to smooth cheek and pressing wet kisses there. I turned more, kissed more. I lingered over the perfect spot under his ear at the corner of his jaw, delighting in Emmett's little hums and sighs.

Finally I rested my chin on his shoulder and tightened my arms. He responded by closing me further into him, and it was exactly where I wanted and needed to be. Our chests and stomachs pressed together and so did our hips. The pressure was gratifying and intense, serving only to solidify the moment. My eyes were closed as I focused on the feel of us together and on the bright ache behind my ribs – the sum of my hopes and my fears and my total regard for this man in my arms. Breathing in sync, sharing our warmth, we just held on to each other. We were deeply entwined, interlocked. Fused. We were holding on tightly to what we had found.

Eventually I acknowledged that I had to let him get home, let him get some sleep. Ever so slowly, I gradually softened my grasp. Emmett's arms and thighs contracted around me once more in a gesture I read as _I know_ and _me too_. Then the clutch of his arms loosened around my waist and we pulled gently apart.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he promised quietly.

"Good luck," I whispered and leaned in one last time, fitting our lips together and testing their soft give.

~oOo~

I watched Emmett wave as he drove away. It was such a different experience tonight compared to last night. The longing was the same, but it was so much better being able to show him than trying to hide it. Sweet relief was too pale a phrase to describe how much better it felt now, even as I watched him leave, to know tonight everything had changed. I climbed the two flights of stairs to my apartment, buzzing with a heady sense of expectation and buoyant with elation.

Alice and Jasper had already disappeared into her room for the night, and I could hear strains of music coming through her closed door. They were playing Moby, and I knew that Alice must have picked the music tonight. Past experience told me 'South Side' would be on repeat for a while. All I heard was the music though, and I was deeply grateful for small mercies.

I was the one that turned Alice on to the joy that is Moby, but I had to admit that song was absolutely ruined for me now. Tonight, though, I couldn't find it in me to be pissed.

I went into my own room, grabbed my music player off the desk, and scrolled through it, searching for something that bounced and rollicked. There was no way I could sleep yet with all this energy thrumming through me. I needed to work it off, as well as try to erase the certain knowledge that Jasper and my sister were getting it on across the hall. I hoped my "misc punk" playlist would do the trick. It was a mix of my favorite punk songs from newer bands to classic punk. I sighed in relief as the opening guitar riffs of a Social D track vibrated through my skull. My knee started bouncing three measures in; by the end of the second song I was ricocheting around my room. Tonight I didn't pore over the words and meanings of each line of every song. I just lost myself in the fast chords and steady beats, finding physical expression for the intensity of my feelings after that last kiss goodbye.

~oOo~

It didn't really take long to burn all the excess energy out of my limbs, and once I had, I stripped and climbed under the covers. They were still mussed from Emmett's nap and I flushed with warmth as I remembered walking into my room after our shower. The view of him splayed out on my bed like that, wearing nothing but his underwear, was akin to looking over a Greek sculpture and wanting to peek under the fig leaf. Even in a state of complete repose, Emmett's form was magnificent.

I'd stood in the doorway for long moments, just watching the soft rise and fall of his belly, memorizing the line from his hip to his elbow where he'd thrown one arm across his face.

Lying in bed alone now, I remembered how I'd crawled carefully into the bed beside Emmett, trying not to wake my sleeping bear. When I snuggled into his side and put my head on his free shoulder, he wound that arm around me even in his sleep. For nearly an hour I lay there watching him slumber. I had listened to the soft whispers of his light snoring and the slow bass beats of his heart. I hadn't closed my eyes the whole time.

I grabbed my music player again and scrolled through my collection looking for something specific and putting it on repeat when I found it. I let Hedwig's soothing voice sing to me about Plato's _Symposium_ and the origins of love.

~oOo~

As I closed myself into the bathroom the next morning, I saw and felt the memory of Emmett everywhere. I'd showered alone in here hundreds of times. Peter and I had snuck into the dorm showers together a couple of times last year. There was that one night with the Romanian exchange student Stefan last fall. (Ali didn't know about my rebound, and she didn't need to know.) Yet, the fresh and potent memory of being here last night with Emmett outstripped every single one of those other memories by a landslide, and there hadn't even been sex involved. Well, at least not in the shower.

Thinking about it made my heart beat just a little faster, and if I hadn't had my face under the hot spray already I'm sure I would have felt the blood flooding my cheeks. As it was, I could feel the smug damn smirk twisting on my lips as I remembered.

In the shower, on the floor, in a locker room, where ever... that man knew how to put his hands on me in all the very best ways.

Last night's shower had been both the satisfying afterglow of an amazing round of sex and the tantalizing foreplay for a round two that was yet to come. It was something for me to remember him by until I got him alone again.

I splashed my face one more time, then turned partway out of the spray and squeezed the water out of my eyes. Reaching for the soap, I lathered my hands and skipped the washcloth. Emmett had used his bare soapy hands on me last night, and I closed my eyes and tried to recreate the feeling.

I swept my hands over my chest and shoulders, massaging the muscles that got tight from spending too much time hunched over my laptop. Emmett had kneaded out knots in muscles I didn't even know I had. He had soothed tender spots with his palms; he had set my body humming with his fingertips. I circled and teased my nipples with the fingers of both hands, flicking one and then the other, closing my eyes and pretending it was him.

I thought about the way his broad chest felt against my back. His body had been slick and warm from the water. Where our bodies met, I had felt his wet chest hair weighted flat and slightly rough against my skin.

I thought about the way he held on to me, his large hands wrapping tenderly around my waist as he maneuvered me. I remembered the way he pressed his knee into the back of mine, making me lift one foot to the lip of the tub. My body had still been buzzing, limbs heavy and sated from the way he had worked me over on the floor in my room. Hell, we couldn't even keep it in the bed we'd been so fucking _at it_. We'd been totally crazed for each other, and I was getting light-headed just remembering the way he had grunted and groaned in my ear, under my touch. My teeth sunk into my bottom lip, biting back the moan hovering there at the thought of his strong hands, the thought of how he'd controlled me so expertly, the thought that _he_ wanted _me_.

Bracing my foot in the same spot, I lathered up again and smoothed my sudsy hands down my torso, trying to mimic the way Emmett's hands had felt on me. One hand low on my belly and the other on the swell of my ass, he had hesitated there for just a moment. I stopped there too, taking time to recall the thrill of anticipation that had rolled over my skin. Then my fingers crept down, down, just like his.

Last night his touch had felt like heaven, nirvana, Shangri-la, all of it. He hadn't been doing it to get me hard again, and I had just relaxed into the sensations of being adored at his hand. This morning though, my cock was hard and needy. I was aching for Emmett's touch. I imagined his stubble rasping against the side of my neck and his hands reaching down to grip me.

My soapy fingers were his, cupping my balls and lifting them to scratch lightly at the underside… trailing through the course hair at the base of my cock… stroking the suds along my shaft… swiping under the ridge at the head with his forefinger…

My eyes were closed tight against the water and with the effort of reliving his touch. Behind me his other hand had traveled down, kneading the muscles of my ass, slipping into the crevice to caress me there…

My breathing stuttered, and my cock twitched with every light touch. I just couldn't stand to tease myself any longer. Leaning my forehead against the tile wall for support and biting my tongue to stay silent, I gripped my shaft and pumped it roughly in short, quick strokes.

_Oh. Oh. Ohgod. _

At the last moment, thoughts of our kiss goodbye last night entered my head. Remembering the way it felt when Emmett and I held each other so tightly and so close finally triggered my meltdown.

_Oh! Oh! Ohgod! OH! OHHHH…_

I scrabbled for a hand hold on the faucet to keep me upright as my hips bucked uncontrollably into my hand. A staggering orgasm crashed and roiled through my body with waves of cascading aftershocks.

_Holy hell._

~oOo~

My limbs were still trembling as I washed my hair and the parts of my body that I'd missed before. I practically had to lean against the wall to wash my legs and feet because my muscles were so weak and shaky. Shaving didn't seem like a good idea, so I put it off for another day. I tried to remember the last time getting myself off in the shower had affected me so strongly, and I couldn't.

A knock at the door startled me out of my reverie. "Ed-waaard, hurry it up in there! Pancakes in ten."

I glanced around one last time to make sure I had washed away any evidence of my self-love before shutting off the water. Saturday morning pancakes had been a family tradition for as long as I could remember, and one I had missed my first two years away from home more than I cared to admit. When Alice had joined me in Seattle this past fall, she'd reinstated the tradition, albeit with her own quirky recipes. It was great getting out of Forks and having a little space from the 'rents – as much as I loved them – but it was also really nice to a have that little slice of home again, too.

In breaking things off with Peter I'd also lost my best friend, and since many of our mutual friends had been his first, I'd lost most of them too. It hurt too much to spend time with them because even when he wasn't present, I was reminded of him at every turn. And frankly, I felt humiliated by his cheating.

I cut them loose or let them cut me loose, whatever. It sucked.

Luckily Ali had been days from moving to Seattle for school when Peter and I broke up. He and I were supposed to share this apartment, and since I'd already moved in over the summer, I got stuck with the lease. Mom and Dad cancelled Alice's dorm reservation at Cornish and moved her in with me instead. Having her here had been a blessing and a balm.

I grabbed a towel off the rack and stepped out onto the bath mat. "Bacon?" I yelled to her through the still-closed door as I started to dry myself. "I mean _real_ bacon?" I corrected myself.

"No!" she tsked.

"Eggs? With cheese?" I countered hopefully, rubbing the towel over my hair.

"O-kaaay," she huffed. "Just get yer ass out here already."

I heard Jasper calling out that the coffee was ready. _Coffee!_ I hustled through the rest of my routine.

~oOo~

Jasper sat across from me and Ali was at the head of the table, between us both. Alice and Jasper had found each other pretty early on in the school year, and we'd gotten over the morning-after awkwardness sometime between Thanksgiving and Christmas breaks. Now he was my closest male friend.

"So… Emmett seems cool," Jasper addressed me nonchalantly. I kept my eyes focused on my pancakes and eggs, but I couldn't help the small grin from forming on my lips. Seeing Emmett fit in with Alice and Jasper so easily last night had been terrific.

"Yeah, he really is." _Cool hardly begins to describe the awesomeness that is Emmett McCarty._

_Alice would probably call this swooning._

"It looked like you two worked stuff out yesterday." This was from Alice. _So it's like that, is it?_ They were ganging up on me.

"Mhm," I agreed but denied them the details for the moment. I was feeling a little too blissed, and that spelled a recipe for disaster for my verbal filter. It would be entirely too easy for me to accidentally over share, and I wanted to keep the good stuff to myself. My cheeks were aching to stretch into a Cheshire grin despite the threat of the two-pronged attack. There'd be no end to the inquisition if I let that slip to these two. Alice was studiously feigning indifference, but I knew better. Underneath the façade she was practically vibrating with excitement.

"He didn't stay though," Jasper stated. It wasn't a question.

"Nope."

"You didn't ask him to?"

"He has practice today, and he needed to get some sleep," I defended.

"Ah, so you did ask him to stay." _Fuck, see how I walked into that one?_

"Didn't you tell him about Saturday morning pancakes?"

I shook my head, but the image of Emmett sharing Saturday morning pancakes with us was a welcome one. My grin grew without my permission.

"And why wouldn't he get any sleep here, brother dear?" Alice asked, a mischievous glitter in her eyes.

"Change the subject, guys," I groaned, and my grin widened again. Alice giggled and Jasper just smirked.

"We just like to see you happy, Edward." Alice patted me on the head like I was a lonely puppy, which I suppose I had been, sort of, and for entirely too long.

"Don't touch the hair, Alice." I ducked away and mimed popping my collar, effectively changing tack. We giggled stupidly together over that joke yet again. It was the same way every time one of us made a reference to the day we'd seen our parents dressed up for a 50's themed costume party when we were kids. Alice and I had busted up laughing so hard when Dad popped the collar on an old jean jacket, slicked back his hair with a comb, and said, "Don't touch the hair, Esme."

I looked at Allie. The smile on her face and the twinkle in her eye was all Mom, and the love I had for the both of them billowed in my chest. I remembered how pretty my mom had looked that night – how shiny her hair had been, and how narrow her waist had looked in that wide skirt… though I guess every little boy thought his mom was the prettiest lady in the world.

~oOo~

Alice had her hair slicked down like Bettie Boop, and she was wearing a little tie-backed hippy dress over faded jeans and her Docs. She and Jasper had plans for the day, and though they invited me to join them, I declined. I could tell by her clothes they weren't going to the studio, but the way Jasper couldn't keep his hands off the bare skin of her back told me I might be a third wheel if I tagged along today. Besides, I had some work that I wanted to do.

They left not long after pancakes, which was pretty close to noon since we'd all slept off our beers from last night. I wondered if Emmett was at practice yet and when he would call.

With no one else home, I hogged the whole couch with my long legs, spreading my notes out on the coffee table and settling my laptop on my thighs. My profile piece on Emmett might be complete and turned in to Kate, but there was some prep work I wanted to do in the event that an opportunity arose for a follow-up article or two… or in case they might become necessary.

Before I'd asked Emmett to consider coming out publicly as a gay athlete, I'd done some research. First I confirmed that UW included sexual orientation in their equal opportunity statement. That was easy enough and pretty much what I had expected. But I couldn't find anything in print to specify that Huskies sports in particular had a sexual orientation non-discrimination clause in effect. So I was forced to assume they would operate under the same non-discrimination umbrella statement as the university. It was somewhat reassuring to read that the UW athletic department purported to comply with NCAA rulings because my online investigation showed the NCAA had finally voted to include sexual orientation in its non-discrim clause just this past fall. That would give us more ammunition if Emmett suffered any overt backlash from the university or the athletics department after the article was published.

Being a journalist suited me perfectly because at my core I was an observer; I was better suited to reporting the news than to making it. I also had a strong belief in fairness and the traditional idea that the free press should serve as a watchdog of the people. I couldn't be with Emmett today as he made news, but I would be ready to use the tools at my disposal to defend his position and bring the issue to people's attention.

My web browser was still open to the page Emmett showed me last night, and I started by skimming over the selection of coming out stories that were posted. There were several dozen of them spanning most of the country, in small towns and large, at state colleges and private universities. It was all rather heartening. If they had all been from large cities or liberal states, it could have painted a different picture. There was some variety in the situations of the stories being told – some coaches, a few professional players who came out after retiring – but most of the stories were about college athletes coming out at school and being accepted by their coaches and teams. I could see how Emmett would find these accounts reassuring in their familiarity and positive outcome.

I dug in and began reading in earnest.

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**A/N: **A quick correction regarding my author's note from last chapter – Sometimes the Q in LGBTQ stands for "questioning" rather than "queer." I've seen it both ways. Occasionally I've seen LGBTQQ. Isn't that a mouthful? Ahem.

This story broke 200 reviews recently. That's a lot of unexpected attention for lil' ol' me, and** I'd like to offer a 1000 word outtake as a thank you.** I'll do an alternative POV determined by **reader choice**.

Click that little green box – I mean, you were going to anyway, right? – and let me know who it should be. Alice, Rose, or Peter? The Romanian exchange student, Stefan, or Emmett's baby sis, Nessie? Maybe Jasper?


	7. Liberate: Peter pov

A/N: Here it is – the bonus thank you chapter! It took a little longer than I intended, but Peter refused to be given short shrift. He said if I was only going to give him a cameo that I'd better get his good side. ;)

A quiff is a trendy men's hairstyle. You can Google it. ;)

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or any of the gay bars in Seattle, but Peter's snarky mouth owns me.

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I really don't need the men's room yet, but I move in that direction anyway. I've already had one drink at the bar and spent several songs on the dance floor. Heading to the men's room at this point is a good way to pace my drinking and also check out who else is on the menu tonight at the club.

A petite boy with white-blonde hair and dark eyes has been checking me out, and he follows me off the floor. He's cute enough but not what I'm looking for tonight, which is perfect, actually. I always turn down the first offer.

I slide and sway my way through the gyrating bodies and feel Blondie's hand on my arm just as I reach the hallway to the washrooms. It's darker here than the dance floor but lit enough that I can still look him over when I turn around. Yep, this one is definitely cute; eager too. He's just like a little puppy. Such a shame I have to break his heart.

"Not tonight, sugar, but you keep dreaming," I decline, one rakish brow arched, one talented hand perched on one perfectly-cocked hip.

His boyish grin falters, and I roll my eyes when he's not looking. He doesn't walk away; instead he glances up at me from under his lashes. That look doesn't work on me, but I let him down a little more gently anyway. Leaning in towards his temple – it's too loud in here for me to actually whisper, but the feel of my breath on his ear makes him shiver – I say, "You never know when your naughty dreams just might come true."

With that, I turn away on my heel. Who knows? He might get a second chance some other night.

In the men's room I check my reflection in the mirror. Chiseled jaw with perfect two-day stubble? Check. Sexy mouth perpetually arranged in devastating smirk? Check. Mysterious brown eyes with naturally long lashes that make the girls cry with envy? _Check._

My black hair is gelled just so, and my thick eyebrows are tastefully groomed. Not too much; I'm no over-tweezed queen. I just need a little sculpting so there are actually two of them. These damn Mediterranean genes are a mixed blessing. Well, at least we Greeks got some things right – and _no_, frat boys aren't it.

Under my fitted shirt I am smooth as a baby, front _and_ back. (My waxer knows to take that shit to her grave.) My shirt is black because I look deadly in black, as are the jeans just tight enough to showcase my ass. I keep up with the manscaping down below too – trim, not wax. I'm not twelve, after all. And honey, with the gun I'm packing, I don't really need that optical inch. Really it's just good manners for the boys who go down on their knees for me.

I turn to check out my profile and pat my flat abs. No gym bunny, me, but I'm still hard and lean. I look like I was born to dance in clubs like this.

Probably because I was.

I preen a little, pretending to smooth non-existent wrinkles out of my shirt, but really I'm checking out the guy who just walked in. I rule him out immediately. He's shirtless and sweaty, but not in the good way. There's good sweaty and bad sweaty, but don't ask me to define the difference. It's like art or pornography – you know it when you see it.

Satisfied with my appearance, I swagger back to the bar. Some boys strut and some boys swish, but you've gotta be born with swagger, and I've got it in spades.

I shoot the bartender an appraising look, and he sashays over to serve up my usual. New bottle in hand, I lean with my back to the bar and survey the scene. It's Friday night and the place is glutted with shirtless-boy eye candy. The selection is… pleasing.

I weigh and measure my options, but I studiously avoid eye-contact. Manray, the Cuff, R Place… It doesn't matter. The ambiance and crowd might be different, but the routine is the same. No eye contact says you're not interested. Flick of the eyes then look away means maybe I saw you, maybe I didn't, maybe you should come over and find out. If a boy makes eye contact that lingers, he's telling you to make a move.

Of the guys I can see clearly from my spot at this end of the bar, no one in particular piques my interest. I look down towards the other end to scope a new vantage point. There at the far end a face catches my eye. There's something familiar about him, though I know without a doubt I haven't met him before. His jeans are not tight or even very fitted, and there's something intriguing about the fact that he isn't giving away all his secrets. His faded black t-shirt has something printed on the front I can't read from this distance, but his body language, square-framed glasses, and sandy-brown hair arranged messily into a quiff help me deduce that it's a band t-shirt of some sort, or God help us, possibly something _ironic_.

Instantly, I realize why he seems so familiar. This boy reminds me of Edward, and I look away before he can catch me staring.

Edward.

I concentrate on the feel of the icy cold beer bottle in my hand.

He was just another baby queer when I met him as he finished up his first year here at UW. He was a newly-hatched bird that had fallen out of his nest. Weren't they all? But there was something special about Edward – some kind of sweetness under that touchy and solemn exterior, a glimmer of light underneath the shadow. He was a little closed-up present I wanted to unwrap. I took him under my tutelage, under my wing you might say, before the big city could swallow him up. He was so desperate for freedom and for cock once he'd been liberated from the limitations of that backwater peninsula town, and I just knew some rough top was going to take advantage.

That first time should be precious, with someone careful enough not to hurt you, who cares enough about your pleasure to make it good.

Take it from me, 'cause I know.

At sweet sixteen I couldn't throw my virginity away fast enough to the first willing dick I could find. And yes, he rushed, and yes, he hurt me. Oh no, don't you cry for me, Argentina. I took my knocks, learned my lesson, and toughened the fuck up real fast. But that lesson... no, that lesson was not for Edward. I could see in his eyes he'd suffered enough. That boy deserved to be treated like a prince, and I could do that for him. At least for one night, anyway.

So I brought Edward into my bed and opened him up like a book. I read every page. He was deliciously ardent and responsive... nineteen and oh so angelic. He may have only been a year younger than me in age, but we were worlds apart in innocence and experience. We didn't sleep for a minute that entire night as I taught him everything he would need to know, answered every question, showed him every which way a talented top could wring pleasure from his body. It takes a good bottom to be a good top, and I am a very, very good top.

I realize now I felt very protective of Edward from the beginning, though I didn't see it at the time. I remember the morning after - it was maybe three days before the start of summer and the end of Edward's freshman year - I fed him and kissed him goodbye with my usual _See you around, sugar._ I mean, I always send them home happy just in case I get the urge for a repeat engagement. It doesn't happen often, but I do like to be a good host.

It was just like any other fuck appointment, and at the same time it wasn't. He tried to hide the hang dog look on his face. I tried to pretend I didn't see it. I don't know what itched at me more, his disappointment or the fact that he was trying to mask it and couldn't. Sweet boy wore his heart on his sleeve. That look loosened my tongue, and before I could swallow the words I was sowing a seed of hope in his chest, winking and telling him to look me up again come fall.

It was something I said in the moment to soften his disappointment, to appease my sudden and inexplicable guilt. I didn't really think he would take me at my word. Sure other tricks had come looking for a second helping of me before, but I figured he'd take the summer to explore his new-found experience and move on. He was no baby bird anymore; I'd taught him to fly.

I glance up from my beer to find I am getting cruised by a fine piece of man – a tall, dark, and built piece of man with brilliantly white teeth and cock-sucking lips to boot. I can be such a fool for a man with full, pouty lips. I meet his eyes and start to turn in his direction, but I'm blocked by the Neanderthal that's suddenly standing beside me. If the 'roid enhanced body and protruding brow hadn't guaranteed his caveman status, the sheer crudeness of his pick-up attempt certainly does.

"You're hot. When's the last time your ass got pounded?" he leers.

This crass jerk thinks he's gonna top me? It's so funny, I almost laugh. I put him in his place instead. "Puh-lease. My cookie would break you in half."

He's not taking the hint, and I realize I need to spell it out. I rake my eyes over him slowly, making sure he notices before I take his head off and hand it to him on a platter. "You may look like Tarzan, but we both know you want to get fucked like Jane. Once you're ready to admit it, you come on back around. My cock's gonna make you see God, but don't worry," I wink at him. "I'm very discreet."

The way his jaw comes unhinged completes the unappealing sight of him. I stare him down until he turns to leave.

In the meantime Mr. Tall Dark and Built is gone. _Damn._

Okay, okay, so most of the shade I throw and the attitude I project is just that – attitude. It's my public persona. Sharp, gorgeous, and often charming, I'm deadly hot when I need to be. That's just my body, my looks, my acid tongue. The rest– my mind, my heart, what I'm really thinking – that's my castle. Private Property. No Trespassing. Beware of Dog.

Keep Out unless I say otherwise. Most of the time, I don't.

Edward was one of the few that ever made it past the moat and over the castle wall. He saw through my attitude somehow, but he never called me on it, never challenged me. He just let me drop the façade when we were alone.

Only God or the devil knew why on earth Edward wanted to love me. Men want me, certainly. But love me?

My whole damn life I've had to watch my parents stab each other with insults, poison each other with criticism. Unfortunately for my older brother Alex and me, the word divorce was not in their vocabulary. The very idea of terminating their marriage was so culturally repulsive to them they would rather endure this hellish self-created existence, waiting to see who would kick the bucket first.

I tried to tell Edward how risky it was to love so easily, how dangerous it was to trust so thoroughly.

But for him... I tried.

I think everyone who knew me (or knew of me at least) was nearly as surprised as I was. Peter Dimitriou in an LTR? Had pigs sprouted wings? Had hell frozen over?

It would never work, they said.

I was inclined to agree.

But the Fates must have been smiling down on us because we were together, exclusive, for that whole school year - an eternity, really, on the scale of college relationships. It was the year Edward declared his concentration in journalism as a sophomore and began writing for The Daily; it was the year I began working towards my certificate in international business and entered my third year of business school. Somehow we complemented each other. Edward was thoughtful compassion to my glib laissez-faire. I was flashy ambition to his calm investigation. He was sentimental loving to my raw intensity.

And when our natures were too opposite, our differences too irksome, we fucked it out. I would lay him down soft and sweet under the covers or bend him in half over the back of the couch - whatever the situation required. Petty resentments were easily forgotten.

Larger issues were easily ignored.

The few times I smelled a truly big fight brewing, I simply walked away until it was buried. I absolutely would not, could not torture Edward and myself the way my parents tortured each other. Better to walk away before someone got hurt. I'd avoid Edward and ignore his calls until he dropped it. The first few times, after we'd been apart for a few days or even a few weeks, he'd apologize even if it was my fault. I didn't want that. I told him I didn't want apologies or blame or for either of us to be sorry, ever. Eventually we'd make up, and then we'd fuck like we were on fire, and things would be good again for a while.

In the end there was no problem I couldn't solve by taking Edward to bed, save one.

I tip back the rest of my beer, leave my empty on the bar, and let the thumping bass lure me onto the dance floor. With my thumbs tucked into my back pockets, I close my eyes and lose myself in the beat. My hips pulse and my spine undulates while the all-consuming sound dictates the speed and rhythm of the beating in my chest. It's a phenomenal place to be, eyes shut and tranced out like this, surrounded by nameless, faceless bodies, by provocative displays of skin that feel slick and smell wild. The DJ slides one song into another with a smooth precision I can appreciate on a completely carnal level. Sometimes you can tell the way a man fucks just by watching him dance. This is true about me: my body makes promises it knows how to keep.

It would never last, they said.

They were right. Nothing good ever does.

Edward didn't want to spend another year living in the dorms. I couldn't blame him, but I was unprepared for his proposal. One year after giving me his virginity he asked me to move in with him. Sweet boy had a fluffy layer-cake fantasy that there was some kind of next level for us, some kind of happily ever after just like his parents.

After nine months with _me_, how could he have remained so shockingly naive? Did he think he could rescue me from the curse of my family's dysfunction, as if it hadn't already blackened me? I knew instantly I would break his heart and fuck this up either way. I was damned if I did and damned if I didn't.

The minute I signed my name to that piece of paper I knew it was the beginning of the end.

The lease began the last week of spring term, and Edward moved in right away but I didn't. He had Comm classes over the summer session and a part-time internship with the Capitol Hill Times. I'd been accepted to study in the UK for the summer to fulfill my international business credits. I listened dutifully to Edward's plans to get us through the time apart with email and voip calls and working around the eight hour time difference. When I got on that plane, I should have felt despondent over leaving my boyfriend. All I felt was relief.

And guilt.

I could say I'm just not cut out for fidelity. It could be true enough given my history. Who says gay men should hold themselves to the often-hypocritical hetero-normative standards of serial monogamy anyway?

But I know that's not why I did it.

Edward still had a sweetness underneath his quiet demeanor, a glinting luminosity sheltered inside a soft gray cloud. From the very beginning I'd felt the urge to protect that in him; I did it the only way I knew how. And when I realized I had become the one from whom Edward needed protection, I did that too.

I needed an out, a clean break, and I knew the one thing that would keep Edward from trying to hold on. The opportunity arose easily enough. The email telling him I'd met someone else was written easily enough. The end, facilitated by the distance of geography, time, and technology, came easily enough.

It was a brutal blow, but at least it was quick. It was better this way for the both of us. Better to walk away now before I poisoned him with my malignant inheritance. Better to release him to find the kind of love he deserved. Better for me to disengage my happiness from his, no one to hurt me and no one to hurt.

Unburdened. Emancipated. Free.

The music shifts again, and I realize how thirsty I am. I want ice cold water and a shot of tequila. At the bar, I tell the shirtless stud flinging drinks to line up a shot for both of us. I lick my salt off the tattoo on his wrist, toss back the liquid fire that passes for tequila in this joint, and devour the lime with a toast to my independence. I'm done thinking about Edward; it's counterproductive to my search for the man of the night.

As if the Fates are smiling at me, Mr. Tall Dark and Built suddenly reappears in my peripheral vision. His shirt is off now and tucked into the back pocket of his jeans. He's been dancing, and his dark skin gleams like polished wood. He's definitely the good kind of sweaty. Some other guy is moving in on him, but I'm not concerned about the competition.

Ignoring the presence of the other boy completely, I stalk towards my prey. He looks up at me with surprise as I go in for the kill. I get right on up in his space like I'm going to kiss him and I… stop.

I don't break eye contact, but out of the corner of my eye I can see the way his chest is rising and falling a little faster now that I'm so close. He wants me. I reach around him to snatch the t-shirt out of his pocket and walk away before he figures out what happened.

"Hey!" I don't turn around at the sound of his voice. I just keep walking, making my way through the crowd and heading to the door. Never look back, never let them think you care if they follow.

"Hey," he says again, when he pulls up beside me.

I cut my eyes at him, my mouth already twisted into a smirk. "You can pick this up off my bedroom floor later," I say. The line's not tired if it still works.

His sexy groan of understanding and consent just feeds my power trip, and I stop walking just long enough to lean into his ear. "Peter." I pause for effect, drawing out the exquisite tension between us. "So you know what name to scream." I start to withdraw so I can appreciate the look on his face, but he grabs me by the front pocket of my jeans and keeps me where I am. His fingers are tantalizingly close to my cock and he runs the tip of his index finger along the crease of my hip from inside my pocket.

Turning his own mouth to my ear I hear him say, "Charles. So _you_ know what name to scream, Peter." The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. He straightens his arm enough that we can appraise each other. He has a smooth smile, but there's not a drop of conceit in it.

I think I'm really gonna enjoy this one.

That boy at the end of the bar, the one that reminds me just a little of my baby bird – strike that, the baby bird I pushed out of the nest and isn't mine anymore – well, I walk right past him without another glance. I'm too busy steering the man-of-the-night... _Charles..._ out the door. I'll take him to my place, treat him like a prince for the night, and then send him on his way with a smile.

No, I don't look back once at the skinny boy with the square jaw, black glasses, and the wrong-color hair because I never, ever look back.

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A/N: Love and kisses to my pre-readers **annetteskitty** and **winterstale** who keep me in line. ;p

Huge thanks to my beta **mac214** who also interviewed me for Wicked Wednesday on the MyVampFiction blog last week. There's a little surprise over there, but I'm not going to give you any hints.


	8. Launch, pt 1

**Disclaimer**: SM owns Twilight.

I own a copy of _**In the Game**__: Gay Athletes and the Cult of Masculinity_. I couldn't have written this chapter without it. This story owns me and this chapter is dedicated to Eric Anderson for living his truth and telling the story.

Eternal gratitude goes out to my pre-readers **annetteskitty** and **winterstale** and to my beta **mac214**. Any remaining mistakes are my own.

**Warning**: Fictional characters may use hateful or debasing speech in this and subsequent chapters which does not reflect the views of the author.

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I groaned as I noticed my hands starting to shake and the feel of bile rising in my throat. It was a familiar feeling, one I experienced regularly before meets. I lurched out of bed and across the hall to the bathroom, lifting the toilet seat just in time to empty my stomach contents into the bowl. Harsh acid burned my throat just like the morning I decided to come out to my folks.

~oOo~

I told my mama first. Anyone who knew Caroline McCarty would tell you she's a soft touch; she's got the sweetest, most forgiving heart of any woman I've ever met. I remember her standing at the sink. She'd just come in from the yard and was trimming flower stems under a couple inches of cool water in the basin. Mama liked her flowers in blues and purples and whites. She always said it made her feel cooler on hot days, and besides, there'd be red enough in the garden come June when the tomatoes started to peak.

I opened the cabinet to the right of the sink and reached easily to the top shelf where she kept the vases. "You want the cut crystal, Mama? Or the china?" I never did understand why she kept anything on the top shelf since she couldn't reach it without her step stool. At fifteen years old I had already towered over her for two summers even though I was far from hitting my last growth spurt. I was tall and broad, though not yet as big as Dad; he looked like a giant next to her. Even Nessie was coming to Mama's shoulder by then, and she was only ten at the time.

"I was thinking the china today, Emmett." Mama dried her hands on a dish towel while I gingerly took down the white china pitcher. It had belonged to Great-granny Caroline, for whom Mama had been named. "Thank you, honey." Mama patted my arm and began to fill the pitcher partway with water. When it was half-full she turned to the fridge and took out the 7-Up.

"The sugar makes the flowers last," she said when she saw my puzzled look.

"Can you use regular sugar?"

"You can," she nodded, "but 7-Up works better." She smirked up at me, anticipating my question. "I don't know why, so don't bother to ask me," she said with a laugh.

Her blue eyes sparkled up at me as she brushed a bit of hair off her brow with the tips of her fingers. Usually I would have had a bit of fun razzing her, but the weight of my secret had taken all the teasing out of me that day. Fear clutched at my chest and warred with the heavy pressure resting there. Suddenly I felt like I couldn't wait another moment to throw them both off.

"I've got something to tell you, Mama." She glanced up at me, her smile gentle. I wanted to return it, and I did try. "I'm gay."

Her smile turned into a frown of confusion. "What?"

I just nodded at her and then leaned my head against the cupboard door. The confusion melted, but the frown stayed. I saw tears form in her eyes, and I steeled myself as she stepped closer.

"Does your daddy know?" she almost whispered. I swallowed thickly and shook my head minutely, watching her face. She blinked once and saltwater clung to her lashes when she opened her eyes to me again.

"Come here, honey." Mama reached her arms up around my neck, dragged me down to her and started rocking. My stomach flip-flopped, and all the air rushed out of me in a whoosh. "We can figure this out. You'll always be my baby." She was sobbing in earnest now. "I love you exactly the way God made you. It's gonna be okay."

~oOo~

When I was done puking I felt a lot better. I was less anxious and more resigned to the ordeal ahead. I rinsed my mouth out with a cupped-handful of water from the sink before brushing my teeth with extra tooth paste and gargling with mouthwash.

I wet my comb and pulled it through my hair a few times before crossing the hall to my room and looking for clothes. I was still naked from sleep so I dug through drawers for some clean trunks and a pair of shorts. I pulled a long sleeve tee from a hanger in my closet. Even though the sun was peeking out this morning, I knew the air would still be cool for a few hours yet, though biking always assured my legs would be warm enough on the ride over to practice.

In the kitchen, I went straight for more water. It was important to pre-hydrate, and I already had fluids to replace after puking. A quick look at the time told me I didn't have enough of it left to digest anything much heavier than whole grains, so I whipped up a papa-bear portion of old-fashioned oatmeal with a spoonful of almond butter, sliced banana, and a sprinkle of coconut. Besides, oats were soothing for body and mind and were one of mama's home remedies for anxiety. The milk tasted nasty after mint toothpaste though. So did my glass of OJ.

I chewed slowly, sitting at the breakfast bar, and thought about the day I was facing. The team practiced Mondays, Thursdays, and non-meet Saturdays to train in technique, with off days spent on weights and resistance training or endurance runs. Hurdles, discus, and pole vault were the core technique events and how I'd be spending most of today's practice. Every other event benefitted from mastering those three because they took it all: posture, stride, strength, balance, dexterity, power, coordination, and patience.

There was a certain similarity between the skills and attributes I needed on the track and those I would need today as I came out to my teammates. As a Q Center volunteer mentor, most of my job was to be a good listener and help people find the resources they needed if they were being harassed, or were depressed or turning to destructive behaviors to cope. A smaller part of my job was to share my own experiences with people, to let them know they weren't alone, and to counsel them on effective strategies for telling their families if and when they were ready.

Those strategies were part of my volunteer training, and they boiled down to something I called the confidence effect: project a positive attitude, keep your tone matter-of-fact, cultivate a demeanor that is unashamed and beyond intimidation, and lastly, set up the listener for a positive response. Eric Anderson, the man who had been my own volunteer mentor through the Q Center, was the one who first helped me to see the way that aspects of my athletic training had shaped other areas of my life. He helped me see how I could tap into those attributes – focus, body language, inner strength, emotional balance, personal power, coordination, and patience – and translate them to fit other situations.

I made a mental note to get on the computer later and let him know what I was doing now. Since he'd graduated last year and moved to California for grad school I hadn't seen him in quite a while, but we'd exchanged a few emails here and there.

Eric had been my mentor first and later had trained me to become a volunteer mentor myself. There was a sound bite from the training that had stuck with me: 'People often receive messages according to the way they are delivered, and they often respond to messages according to how they are expected.'

I wish I'd had that advice before I came out to my dad.

~oOo~

The light cover of clouds obscured the robin-egg blue of the sky, but at least it wasn't drizzling at the moment. I figured it was just a tad over fifty degrees Fahrenheit outside when I got to the bottom of the stairs of my apartment building, my mountain bike fitted with street tires hefted over my shoulder. It was a typical chilly mid-March morning, and I was grateful yet again that UW had an indoor track facility. I set the gears high and stood up in the saddle to get my blood pumping.

I spent the ride focused on my breathing, the feel of my muscles shifting under my skin, the sensation of slicing through the misty air, and not getting run over. I had to admit, though, drivers out here were more accommodating to bikes on the road than back home.

Eight city blocks later, my muscles were warm while my skin was cool. My clothes were damp from humidity when I locked my bike in a rack on the sidewalk outside the Dempsey Indoor arena.

Three years I'd been training and competing here, and it never failed to send a little thrill through me when I stepped inside. There was 80,000 square feet of indoor competition space, a permanent six-lane regulation-size oval track, and a full 100-yard infield for the vaulting, jumping, and throwing events. Dempsey had the reputation for being one of America's fastest indoor venues, and it was definitely one of the reasons I crossed the country to come to school here.

~oOo~

I hung a left into the locker room and passed a few aisles of lockers until I reached the row with mine. James Bruckner, our best pole-vaulter, was already there. He was replacing the spikes on his vaulting shoes and dressed in matching Husky gold tank and shorts. The almost champagne-color suited his icy-blue eyes, close-cropped sandy brown hair, and boy-next door looks. Appropriate, too, since he was absolutely one of the golden boys here at UW – an accomplished athlete who made high marks in his classes and donated his time as a math tutor. James was a shoe-in for the Caius Student-Athlete post-grad scholarship. It was awarded each year to a few elite athletes heading to grad school that met the stringent GPA requirements and demonstrated leadership or were notably involved in community service. I knew he wanted it badly.

He looked up, and I nodded my head at him before tugging my bag of gear off my back and dropping it on the bench beside me. I took my cue from him and didn't say or do anything more in greeting, opting instead to open my locker and start sorting my gear.

James was an alright guy and definitely a popular one, but he had a bit of a chip on his shoulder. He was in the top slot for vault on the team, and it was all due to hard work and some admirable determination. He ran a bit hot and cold with his teammates though. He was ultra competitive and had quite the temper when something got under his skin. Some people say we have to be a little bit crazy to pole vault; for James it seemed more like a philosophy of survival of the fittest or what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

I wondered not-so-idly what his reaction to my announcement would be.

I was checking the condition of my own cleats when Mitchell 'The Arrow' Aro rounded the corner from the other end and dialed his combination into the locker next to James. Aro was of average height with a wiry upper body and a powerhouse lower body, a fitting build for a sprinter. He'd given himself that ridiculous nickname, but honestly, the guy was incredibly fast and had a knack for being first off the blocks.

"S'up, Emmett." He nodded his head at me with a smile, and I returned the gesture, "Hey Mitch."

"Jaaaaaames," he dragged the name out in playful greeting, receiving a smirk and a fist bump for his efforts. "You going to the party at the Pike house tonight?" In my periphery I saw James shrug noncommittally and begin to lace up his shoes.

I faced my locker, drawing my long-sleeve tee over my head and hanging it on the hook inside. Wallet, keys, and phone went on the shelf inside the locker.

Aro either didn't notice James was in one of his moods or it just didn't faze him. He barreled on ahead. "You've got to come, man. You're like a pussy magnet. I always get laid when you're my wingman." Of all the sexist crap guys would fling around the locker room, Mitch and James were some of the worst. Mitch talked big like he got a lot of action, but apparently James actually did.

I heard James snort in derision, but there was definite amusement in his voice when he spoke. "When I'm _your_ wingman? _Right_."

I taped a Band-aid over each nipple to guard against chafing and then changed into my Husky purple muscle tank and my performance boxer jock. I took a second to adjust the goods before layering a pair of running shorts over top of them- more Husky purple of course.

Mitch laughed. "Come on, man. You know the Pike parties always have the easiest girls."

"Yeah – no fucking challenge. Besides, I've got Rini on the hook tonight."

The rest of my street clothes went in; my vault cleats, sprint spikes, and spinning shoes came out. Javelin cleats, high jump shoes, and distance spikes stayed in the locker today. It was kind of amazing how many different pairs of shoes I had to have, but I guess it went hand-in-hand with tackling ten events when most guys focused on only one or two.

"Mmm, Irina…" There was a sound of smacking lips. "Damn, man, she is one fine piece. Why don't you bring her with you? I can always keep her company if you get bored." Mitch is one of those guys I would think was pretty hot if he wasn't such a confirmed skirt-chaser and didn't talk so much trash about women. He was often funny though, a real clown, and remarkably friendly to everyone.

Vault cleats and spinning shoes went in the duffle for later. I was lacing up my sprint spikes when Mitch turned to me. "McCarty, man, you've seen Irina, right?"

I slammed my locker shut. I hated being pulled into these conversations.

"God, I'd love to bend her over– ow!"

James punched Aro in the bicep, not hard enough to bruise but definitely hard enough to get his point across. "One of these days you're going to have to learn how to score your own trim, Aro."

~oOo~

I left the lockers behind and entered the training room. Amun Shenouda was on the padded bench nearest the door, and Benjamin Busiri was next to him getting taped by Jared, one of the team trainers. I took a seat on the third bench down and greeted the guys. Benjamin had been having some trouble with his left ankle, and Jared was wrapping it for stability.

"Hey man, how's Tia?" I smiled at him.

I always enjoyed listening to Benjamin speak; sometimes I struck up a conversation with him just to hear the way he spoke English with that fascinating blend of Egyptian and British accents. "Ah Tia," he said with a grin. "She is beautiful as always, my friend."

"She still puts up with you then?" Jared had finished taping, and he had Benjamin flex and point his foot to test the fit.

Amun frowned a little at my teasing, but Benjamin's laughter was loud and deep. "It is my hope she will put up with me for a very long time."

Since I'd first joined Huskies track, the training room had been a place where the guys could be themselves and feel at ease. There was no fooling the trainers, so it did no good to hide behind typical guy stoicism. That made the training room a place we could talk about what was going well without it sounding like bragging and talk about what ached without getting called out for looking weak.

There with the same guys nearly every day, it was a familiar and welcome transition between the pressures of the field and the machismo of the locker room. These soft yellow walls had seen a lot, I was sure. It was in this room that Benjamin announced he'd proposed to Tia over Christmas break. Last year, Liam told us his father was diagnosed with lung cancer while getting his knee taped after he wrenched it during a hammer throw. Even Alec showed some emotion in here when his twin Jane set the women's team record for high jump this year.

I continued to chat with Benjamin as Jared moved on to check that Amun's knee wasn't swelling. He'd had to miss the last meet because of an injury and seemed anxious to get back on the field before he had to miss any more.

When the trainer okayed Amun for practice, Benjamin bumped my shoulder with his fist. "See you at the starting blocks, Emmett. I must warn you, I am feeling very fast today."

"Yeah, yeah, I hear you talking…" I winked. Amun scowled at me again, but I laughed it off. I swear that guy was jealous, though not just of me. You've never seen a smile so smug as the one on his face when he has Benjamin's complete attention.

Coach Banner walked in just as Benjamin and Amun were leaving. "Jared, can you give us a minute? I'll take care of Emmett's tape today."

Jared excused himself, and Coach stepped up to take a look at me. "How are you feeling this morning, Emmett?" I knew he wasn't just asking me about my shoulder.

"Honestly, I'm a little nervous."

"I think that's pretty natural." He smiled, and the skin around his eyes crinkled kindly. "Still want to go through with it?"

I raised one eyebrow, matching his expression, until he chuckled and clapped me on the back.

"Alrighty then." Coach had me rotate and flex my wrist while he felt the tendons move under the skin. "Any pain or tension?"

"No, sir."

"I've called the mandatory team meeting for one o'clock, at the stands by the infield. All the disciplines on both men's and women's teams should be done with practice and cool down by then. I'll make a few announcements and then give you floor, okay?"

I nodded. "Coach?" He looked up and gave me his attention. "I was thinking I'd like to tell a few of the guys in private before standing in front of everybody this afternoon. Maybe in here? It'd be kind of a warm-up."

"I think we can make that happen. You want me to pull you and a few of your teammates off the field a few minutes before everyone else?"

"Yes sir. Maybe just the guys I train with regularly?"

There really aren't very many decathletes around. Only three of us – Garrett, Benjamin, and me – do all ten events, despite how big the UW track team is. We don't have our own assistant coach but train part-time with each of the major disciplines and spend time with almost all the different sections of the team. That means I know a lot of the guys by name and they know me, though they don't really _know_ me. But there are guys in each area I consider friends and spend most of my time with in training and at meets.

Coach nodded his agreement as he taped my wrist. "Garrett went home this weekend," he observed.

"Yes, sir. His brother's eighteenth birthday."

I wished Garrett could be here for me to lean on today, but I knew how close he and his kid brother Connor were, especially since their dad died a few months after Garrett left for college. He'd been a good buddy to me from the very first day we met on the track freshmen year, and I'd been out to him longer than anyone else since leaving home for school – except Coach of course, and maybe Rose. I knew how hard he tried to be a good older brother to Connor, despite being a four hour drive away from him.

Coach Banner moved his hand up to my forearm just below my elbow and had me rotate my wrist again.

"Any pain or tension?"

"A little tension in this position." I showed him.

He taped my forearm and moved up to my shoulder, having me rotate it through its full range of motion. "Any pain or tension?"

"No, sir."

"None?"

"Nope," I grinned. "The shoulder's feeling great actually."

"Well, that's some good news, isn't it?"

~oOo~

Several of the guys had already started their warm-up laps when I reached the track, including my buddy Seth. He was a Clearwater and from the same reservation on the Olympic peninsula as Leah. They were second cousins, if I understood correctly. At first glance you might think they were siblings because they both had the perfectly straight, glossy black hair, dark almond-shaped eyes, and strong high cheekbones of their shared ancestry. Once you knew them, though, it was easy to see that Leah's face was heart-shaped with a small and delicate mouth while Seth's face was more angular and nearly always sported a huge, happy grin.

I waited for Seth to get around to me and merged in beside him and his friend Riley, another freshman. We ran in quiet companionship until the assistant coach in charge of sprints and hurdles whistled to call us over for drills.

After drills we raced the 110 meter high hurdles. There were six lanes, but today only five runners lined up at the blocks – Seth, Riley, Aro, Benjamin, and me. Usually Garrett filled the last spot.

"Hey old man, think you can keep up with us today?" Riley got a kick out of calling Mitch 'old man' partly because Aro insisted on calling Riley 'frosh' and partly because Aro had a strange shock of white hair behind his right ear. Aro kept his black hair buzzed short and the odd dime-sized circle of white stood out distinctly. Whenever anyone asked him about it, he'd make up some crazy story – dropped on his head as a kid, hit by lightning, touched by a ghost – a different story every time.

"Don't choke on my dust, frosh," he tossed back good-naturedly.

"Alright fellas, focus!" barked Assistant Coach Larson. "Set!" We took our marks, and the atmosphere changed to all business. Anyone still joking would be left in the dust, and we all knew it. It was pretty unlikely I'd ever beat our pure sprinters off the blocks, but that never stopped me from trying.

When the gun sounded we burst off our marks. Distantly, I registered Benjamin and I were neck and neck at the first hurdle, but the line of runners was already beginning to spread away from us. I kept the bulk of my concentration on my own lane though. _Run your own race_, Coach Banner always said.

Practice wasn't nearly as impressive or exciting as a meet. It was a lot of repetitive, sweaty work, and the moment you lost focus was the moment your shoe hit the hurdle instead of clearing it. That was the moment that cost you the lead or maybe even got you injured. Part of being a successful athlete was cultivating an unbreakable focus.

We created our own wind in the indoor track, and the harder we ran, the faster we parted the air, but hurdles were not just about speed. Most importantly they were about timing. I visualized my pumping legs as machine pistons firing by precision timer, pounding out the rhythm of the hurdles.

1, 2, 3, 4, _fly…_

1, 2, 3, 4, _fly…_

~oOo~

Assistant Coach Larson sent Benjamin and me to stretch down before releasing us for discus training. We jogged over to the benches alongside the field. My duffle was there next to Benjamin's, and we both sat to trade our sprint spikes for our spinning shoes. On the ground at the far end of the bench was a cooler piled high with bottled water. I waved a quick greeting to Alec, who was standing in front of the cooler and downing some water. He was James' biggest competition in the pole vault event, and we occasionally trained together in both vaulting and long jump.

There were about ten guys on the men's team who competed in throwing events and nearly the same number on the women's team. Track and field encompassed a wide variety of disciplines, which meant there was a place or event for many body shapes and sizes. At one end of the spectrum were the sprinters who tended towards slim and ranged from tall to petite. At the opposite end were the bulkier guys who competed in the throwing events, like Felix Trask who was barreling this way for a water break.

Occasionally athletes from other Husky teams crossed over to do track in their off-seasons. In the fall Felix was a starter on defense for the football team. At 6'3" we were about the same height, but he easily had 40 to 50 pounds on my 225 pound frame. He was massive.

He elbowed Alec out of his way easily. "Move it, bitch."

"Who you calling a bitch, Lurch?" They scuffled as Alec tried to muscle Felix back, but he couldn't budge him. If Felix outweighed me by 40 pounds, he definitely outweighed Alec by another 30 after that. Alec huffed in frustration and settled for knocking Felix's water bottle out of his hands.

"Oh, you asked for it now, pussy." Felix chortled as he yanked Alec's shorts down.

Alec scrabbled for the waistband of his loose running shorts before they made it very far down his rear. "Get off me, you fat-assed fag," he gasped, laughing.

Felix cuffed Alec on the shoulder one last time before heading back to the field. "Later, ass-wipe."

"Later, fuck-head."

Hearing slurs like 'fag' and 'that's so gay' were completely commonplace in almost every sport. Occasionally it was actually used to question another guy's sexual orientation, but more frequently it was simply a way to imply something negative or establish the pack order in a group of highly competitive males. It was so prevalent and pervasive that it just slid by unnoticed by most people most of the time. Lotta time folks don't even hear it when they're saying it themselves unless you bring it to their attention.

Felix wasn't necessarily a bad guy, but he wasn't my favorite teammate either. He seemed to bring the football team's hyper-masculine attitudes with him to track in the spring. Coach Banner had a pretty strict 'no put-downs' policy. I don't think the same was true of coaches in some of the contact sports.

I'd been lucky, I guess, that I'd rarely had to endure those words leveled at me directly, and they'd been relatively easy to brush off or ignore. I'd always been tall, bulky, and athletic, and often bigger than most of the guys around me. That had pretty much given me a free pass from most of the macho jockeying for alpha-dog dominance. Most guys found me physically intimidating. Between that and a good sense of humor, I'd side-stepped almost every fight that had ever come looking for me. I'd broken up fights before, and I had to pin a guy once who got too aggressive with me in junior high, but I'd never thrown a punch in my life.

All the coaches and their assistants were busy on the field, so there was no one in any kind of official capacity around to call Felix or Alec out for their talk. Ignoring it and being silent was a defense mechanism I'd put into practice for a very long time. I'd just never been ready to open myself up that way. Until now, I guess. I mean, once I came out to everyone I wouldn't be able to just let it slide or pretend I didn't hear it anymore, would I?

~oOo~

Discus practice was more of the usual. Neither Benjamin nor I enjoyed practicing with Felix, and I was glad when he transitioned to training in hammer throw. We both preferred Liam's quiet company instead. The three of us traded turns in the circle, with fingers splayed around the eight inch disc and torsos twisted in wind-up. We threw repeatedly, each aiming for a purple towel set up as a target 60m down the field.

Executing a discus throw demanded a perfect balance of complex technique and explosive power. Most meets required qualifying throws before you could compete in discus. Not enough power, and the athlete might not get enough distance to qualify. Poor technique, and he might foul. Each attempt we drove with the left leg, landed on the right, pivoted 360 degrees before pushing off again, landed a second time hitting the power position, and pressed through the hip to create a snap that put the power behind the throw.

Thirty throws was about my max on a day when I was also training in pole vaulting. Assistant Coach Wazel knew I wouldn't get any good vaults if I exhausted my top arm, and honestly I couldn't wait to get in the air.

I retired my spinning shoes and changed into my cleats, heading out for more warm-up laps. James and Alec were at the vault lane when I finished. They were both vaulting at 5.7m which was a bit higher than my best, so I stepped to the sidelines to stretch as I waited for them to finish their rotation. When they were done, they worked together with the placers to set the crossbar down to 5.1m for me to start.

I chalked my hands and selected my pole from the rack, preparing myself mentally for my vault. There was a particular space reserved in my head especially for vaulting. This was the event that fed my inner adrenalin junkie like no other.

I took my stance at the mark, focused on posture, alignment, and poise as I began my sprint down the track. I started upright, a uniform stride accelerated to max controllable speed and maintained as the box came into view. My heart thudded with anticipation as I approached my target. I planted the pole and felt it curve powerfully under my hands. A flex in ankle, knee, and hip lowered my center of gravity. A slight shift in tempo on the second to last step created lift without sacrificing speed. It was an incomparable thrill to command the potential energy stored in the bowing spring of the pole and ride that power as it released, launching me feet first straight up towards the crossbar. Air born. Elated. I twisted and folded to clear the obstacle, dropped the pole and arched away, plummeted to the mat and bounced.

_Yes!_

~oOo~

When Coach sent Benjamin, James, and me to the training room, Seth, Liam, and Aro were already there. Jared was moving unobtrusively around the room, checking tape on Seth, securing ice on Liam. Paul was in the corner sorting supplies, and I couldn't tell if he was listening to our conversation or not. Of course, half an hour from now it wasn't going to matter whether he heard it in here first or not.

Benches lined both sides of the long, narrow room, and I picked one that put me within conversation range of all the guys. I listened to their easy rapport as I gave myself an internal pep talk, reminding myself of the confidence effect. It wasn't so very different from psyching myself up before vaulting, and that thought made me smile. I was nervous, yes, but less so about this moment with this small group of guys than standing in front of the large crowd that would be assembled later. I didn't want my jumbled nerves over that event to drag me down now though. I needed to take things one step at a time. I spent a moment grounding myself, breathing deeply and slowly as I stretched out. I focused on little things I knew and liked about each of the men around me, reassuring myself that we were tight and we respected each other. I couldn't control their reactions, but I could set the tone. I could deliver this message, confident and unashamed, with the expectation of a positive response. Who knew? I might just get it.

I waited for a lull in the conversation and cleared my throat. "Hey guys, I have some news. I wanted you five to hear it from me first."

Jared looked up at me and nodded his head in the direction of the door. He was asking if I wanted him to leave so I could talk to the guys in private. I smiled and shook my head. "You and Paul can stay, Jared. I'd like you to hear this too, but you don't have to stop what you're doing."

"What's up, Emmett?" Seth asked.

"You know The Daily is running a profile piece on me, right? Well, in that article I'm going to announce a new social support group for athletes… that are gay, like me."

I rolled my shoulders a little and sat up straighter, looking around the group as I waited for their reactions. To my right, Liam looked thoughtful, seemingly focused on a spot on the floor. I wasn't really surprised that he hadn't spoken, though across from him Aro was watching me with raised eye-brows, apparently speechless for the first time in history. Directly in front of me was Benjamin, his expression concerned. Next to him James was busy picking at a loose end of some tape on his wrist, but I could tell that he was looking at me out of the corner of his eye.

Seth was on my left, and he spoke up first, reaching his hand out to me. I clasped it gratefully. "That's cool, man. Good for you." Good old Seth; I knew I could count on him.

"Thanks. Straight guys like you can come too," I joked. "There'll even be free pizza."

"Free pizza? Oh, I'm there dude. Is Leah coming? You know she plays intramural tennis." Even though the conversation was perfectly normal, everyone else was so quiet that it felt forced and too loud, as if we were trying to fill the silence. Maybe we were.

I nodded. "I saw her yesterday actually, and she sounded interested. She helped me book a conference room for the meetings." I needed to get the rest of the guys back in this somehow. I turned back to the group. "A few people already know I'm gay because it's come up one way or another." I shrugged, keeping things low-key. "But I know it's news to some of you, and I wanted you to hear it from me rather than read it in the paper."

"Like we'd bother reading an article about you, McCarty. We get enough of your ugly ass at practice." Always the clown, Aro finally found his voice again, but it broke the tension perfectly. James and Seth both snickered, and even Liam cracked a smile. I could've kissed Mitch for his big damn mouth at that moment.

"_My_ ass is ugly? I don't think so," I quipped. It wasn't much of a retort, but everyone was laughing now. Teasing and flipping shit at each other was familiar ground.

When the chuckling died down, James asked me the one question where I wasn't completely sure I knew the answer. "Why didn't you ever say something before?"

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, considering my response. "I don't really know, James. There are a lot of little reasons that added up I guess. It was easy to think to myself that this is my private life and it's nobody else's business… or I only need to tell the people I'm really close to… or I can deal with it when it comes up, but I don't need to go out of my way to bring it up… some people might feel less comfortable around me than they do now… I might get harassed… some people just might not care to know those kinds of details about a teammate…" I trailed off.

"Lot of those things are still true," James observed.

"I know. I guess the difference now is a change of attitude on my part. The reasons to tell you guys outweigh the reasons not to. I want the freedom to be completely open and honest. I don't like feeling that I have something to hide or something that I can't talk about. You're my team. That doesn't feel good to me; it doesn't feel _right_. And I'm finally getting up the nerve to do something about that."

I noticed a deep frown of consternation marring the classical planes of Benjamin's usually smooth and peaceful face. I waited quietly for him to speak.

"Emmett, my friend." It was a relief to see he hadn't dropped the familiar term. "How can this be safe for you? What you speak of so freely here is illegal in my country. Egypt is very liberal compared to many of its neighbors, but still in my country these men are sometimes arrested, especially when they become too vocal…" He lowered his voice. "The authorities are not always reasonable with them."

"I get your concern. Believe me, I've thought about that possibility. And I do have a 'hope for the best, prepare for the worst' kind of mentality." I chuckled with no real humor. "But I really don't think that's going to be a problem here. UW's inclusion policy is pretty clear. I've spent time working with the Q Center and know my rights and what avenues are available to me if there's harassment – even the NCAA revamped their non-discrimination policy to include sexual orientation."

"But why? Why put yourself at risk?"

"Benjamin, didn't it feel good to tell us, here in this room, when Tia said yes?" I paused, giving him a moment for the change of subject to sink in. When he nodded, I took it as my cue to continue. "What if you never felt like you could share that moment with us because someone might judge you or persecute you for who you loved?"

I broadened my attention to include the rest of the people in the room. "I just want the same things you want, guys. I want to be my best on the field, get a good job, find 'the one', and share my life with that person. Openly. And I guess, in the end, the risks are worth it to me."

Liam surprised me by asking the next question. "If it's no big deal, why put it in the paper?" His tone was disapproving. "Why bring all this negative attention on yourself and the team?" I considered how quiet and reserved he was, trying to remind myself to see things from his perspective.

"I hear you, but I think of it this way, Liam. It's a completely normal and G-rated topic of conversation for any of you guys to talk about taking your girl out to a movie, right? It should be the same for me to mention that I'm taking my guy to a movie. But it's not. It's immediately a controversy, immediately an adult topic of conversation, purely because who I love doesn't have the same legitimacy in society. And while that's still the case, people like me still need places and groups and community where we feel safe to be ourselves, where we do feel legitimate. And we'll never get that legitimacy hiding in the closet."

"Or hiding in the locker room," Seth came to my defense.

"Exactly! The locker room is like _the largest, dingiest, smelliest closet left in America_*," I said with a laugh.

"You know, there's _never_ been an openly gay professional player in any of the big three sports. It's not because there aren't any gay men playing pro sports, okay? It's because pro sports culture can't handle it yet, and guys are afraid – afraid of harassment by other players or fans, afraid of being labeled as a 'problem player' and losing their spot on the team, afraid of losing endorsements…

"I found an article about a lacrosse player who was out in college and got signed to a pro team. Who's ever heard of that guy? No one. But names like Kopay and Amaechi? They didn't come out until after they'd retired, and they still got shit for it. Until that stops being true, there's a need for gay athlete groups like the one I'm starting. I mean, I look at how progressive it is here on the left coast and at UW in particular with the Q Center and all the programs it runs… and yet, there's still no group for gay athletes?"

"Until you came along anyway," James joked sardonically.

"That's right," I agreed, intentionally taking the comment at face value. I was feeling good, really positive, about the way this conversation was going. No one had run screaming from the room at least. Aro seemed to have recovered from his initial shock, and Seth definitely had my back. Benjamin was concerned, but it was more for my safety than out of a disapproval of me. I was less certain of what James and Liam were really thinking, but neither had reacted too harshly to the news. "I have this opportunity with the article to do something more than just talk about myself. I can get the word out about the Queer Athlete's Alliance, and maybe it'll do some good."

I realized I was doing all the talking, and maybe I needed to be doing a little more of the listening.

"So… is there anything you guys wanna know? Anything else you wanna ask me before I go out there and tell the rest of the team?"

"Have you told Coach?" This time Aro piped up.

"Oh, yeah. Actually, I told him back when I toured UW before deciding I was going to attend here. I really wanted to know if he would see me being gay as a problem. I don't think I could have come here to run track if he'd been prejudiced against me for my sexual orientation."

A few of the guys looked surprised to hear Coach had known for so long. "Who do you think arranged for the six of us to be here right now so we could have this little chat?" I grinned.

"Huh. Why us?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why did you pick the five of us to be the ones you told first?" Aro clarified.

"Finally, an easy one!" I joked. "Pretty simple, really. I spend more time with you guys than anyone else on the team. I wanted to have a chance to talk privately with you all so you could get comfortable with everything before the news goes public tomorrow. There might be some backlash to the article; you know, people might talk shit about me, and I just wanted you guys to know before it comes out in the paper so it didn't take you by surprise."

"Where's Garrett then? I thought you guys were tight?" Liam asked.

"Oh, he had to go home this weekend. He knows about me. I've been out to him since we were freshmen together. He's cool with it."

"So what do you want from us?" asked James, straight to the point as ever.

"Acceptance," I said simply. "Don't treat me any differently than you do now. There are going to be people on the team who will act differently around me when they find out. I hope you guys won't."

"Right. It's not like we haven't had Coach Banner's 'total tolerance' speech drilled into us a million times by now."

"You'd be surprised, Seth."

I noticed the wall clock out of the corner of my eye. 12:52. It was nearly time.

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*** Notes**

Emmett's description of "the confidence effect" was adapted from _**In the Game: Gay Athletes and the Cult of Masculinity**_ by Eric Anderson.

When Emmett says, "The locker room is the largest, dingiest, smelliest closet left in America," he is quoting Dan Woog who wrote _**Jocks: True Stories of America's Gay Male Athletes**_.

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**A/N: Two good causes, lots of great fic.**

**Fics For Nash** http : // community(dot)livejournal(dot)com/ficsfornash/ Donate to flood relief in Tennessee and get lotsa good fic. I've contributed a ~1K E/J slash piece.

**DefinitelyStaying's EBook Benefit** http : // ebookbenefit(dot)blogspot(dot)com/ Donate to causes like the Amnesty Int'l or the Matthew Shepard Foundation to aid victims of violence.

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So... was this chapter worth the awfully long wait? And if there are any guys reading, would you be willing to let me know you're here?

Login to review if you can, 'cause I like to write back! Pretty please with Emmett's dimples on top? ;p


	9. Launch, pt 2

Launch, pt 2  
By Rosmarina

**Disclaimer**: SM owns Twilight.

Thank you **mac214**, **winterstale**, and **annetteskitty** for sticking with me. Thank you **JasperWhitlockHale'sMan** and **carrottop81690** for your insights and perspective.

Thank you **claire de lune** for starting a Twilighted thread for Potential here: http : / www . twilighted . net / forum / viewtopic . php?f=44&t=10160

**Warning**: Fictional characters may use hateful or debasing speech in this and subsequent chapters which does not reflect the views of the author.

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I headed out to the stands next to the infield, and I found my nerves returning when I took in the number of people assembled. UW was a big school, and the track team was not small. There were about fifty people on the men's team and more than sixty on the women's. Add in the coaches and their assistants, and it was a crowd.

I wiped my palms on the thighs of my shorts, but the slick nylon did little to absorb the perspiration. The slight shake in my muscles as I crossed the track was a combination of the aftershocks of intense physical exertion, low blood sugar, and a distinct urge to take off in the opposite direction.

I found Rosalie's face in the first row. She sent me two thumbs up and small smile.

I jogged over, eager now for the relief of her company. Rosalie was chill and funny, and she always seemed to know just what to say to calm my nerves. She pulled on my hand so I would sit down beside her and handed me a bottle of water.

Coach Banner called for everyone's attention and began to announce some training schedule changes. I felt Rose's hand against mine and looked down at our fingers and blinked. Coach was talking, but it was all going in one ear and out the other as I looked at our hands. She had caught my pinky finger with hers and linked them together. The blunt nails on her other hand were rapidly tapping the bench.

She was nervous, too.

For me.

Oh, fuck.

What the _hell_ was I about to do?

Banner's voice cut through the hazy panic that started to swallow me. "Now, Mr. McCarty has an announcement. Please give him your attention."

_Stand up._

_Stand. Up._

_Fucking stand up already!_

It took a moment before the signal from my brain filtered down to my body and allowed me to rise from my seat. My nerves were in overdrive as I made myself walk over to where Coach was waiting. It was like my feet were moving through quicksand, but my head was a helium balloon tied to my body with a string. I shook off my light-headedness. Christ, I was going to pass out if I didn't pull my shit together.

My palms were still clammy, and I think my face must have shown how anxious I felt because he squeezed my shoulder and said quietly, "You're not alone, son. Just remember that, and you'll make it through."

I couldn't help but remember Edward saying the same thing to me last night.

It steadied me a little to think of the people who would stand by me. Coach, Rose, and Garrett. Seth and Leah. Edward.

I'd planned to take a slightly different tack with this larger audience than I had with the small group of guys in the training room, but I was still a little unsure how it would go over. A different man might have practiced this speech in front of a mirror. I realized, a little too late, I could have adapted some of Coach Eleazar's visualization techniques to prepare myself the same way I did when going for a new height on the crossbar or a quicker time over the hurdles. Anxious thoughts that I should have spent more time getting ready started to gnaw at me. I clutched more tightly to the cold bottle of water I was still holding, pressing it hard against my thigh, willing the sensation to pull me out of that downward spiral.

Besides, I didn't think anything would really prepare me for this moment. I wasn't really scared of being out to my whole team; that was an eventuality with a potential for hardships I was willing to face. But the idea of standing up in front of all of them at the same time _right now_ was kind of freaking me out.

Coming out in this article may have been Edward's suggestion, but truthfully it had only been the nudge that I'd needed to look at a part of myself I'd been ignoring. Sure, I was out to family and close friends and even to Coach, but I still let most people assume I was straight, just because.

Just because it wasn't obvious I was gay. Just because it wasn't any of their business. Just because it was easier.

Just because it shouldn't matter.

And I hated that I'd let myself fall into the closet by default.

I mean, I'd already overcome the hardest thing I'd ever have to do just by coming out to my parents. It didn't matter how much you knew your parents loved you, when it came time to intentionally test whether that love was unconditional, it was fucking scary.

If I was sure I'd already overcome the hardest part, I was also certain I'd recently started to taste the sweetest reward.

So I reached deep and found my resolve.

"Hey everybody, I'm starting a new group for socializing and advocacy for gay and lesbian athletes at UW and the folks who support them." I tried to look as many people in the eyes as I could while I spoke. I needed them to see me as a real person. Mama always said it was easier to love a neighbor than a stranger.

"The first meeting of the Queer Athletes Alliance will be held Thursday, March 25th in Schmitz Hall." I waved my arm uselessly in the general direction of that side of campus out of nervous habit. "From 6 to 8 pm we'll eat pizza and talk about what it means to be openly gay in college athletics."

I registered a variety of reactions – some surprise, some indifference, a titter of scandal, and one or two scowls of disgust. A couple of Liam's friends looked shocked and elbowed him; it looked like they were wondering if he had known. There were plenty of folks, too, who listened with polite attention or even gave me encouraging smiles. Next to Seth, Riley's eyes were wide as saucers, and his knee bounced nervously.

I put on the best smile I could muster given the circumstances. "Come for the free food, and stay for the discussion."

Alec was whispering behind his hand to Felix, who was frowning in my direction. Benjamin was watching me anxiously, and Amun was scowling beside him. Nothing new there.

I scratched the back of my neck with my free hand. "If you read the online edition of The Daily tomorrow, there's gonna be a profile piece on me in the Sports section. The meeting details will be announced there too." Rose had a reassuring smile for me, as did Seth. I wished Garrett was there. He'd probably distract me from my nerves by making some ridiculous face and trying to check out Rosie when he thought she wasn't looking.

I couldn't think of anything else I should say, so I fiddled with the cap of my water bottle and looked over to Banner. "I think that's about it, Coach." Well, at least I managed to do one thing right – I'd kept it short, sweet, and to the point.

"Thank you, Emmett." He shook my hand and then turned to address the crowd of people in the stands.

"Okay, folks. That's it for the day. Great practice everyone. Hit the showers." He dismissed both teams. Most people exited to the sides and headed straight for the lockers. A few people patted my shoulder or held out a fist to be bumped as they walked by, but only Rose, Seth, and the coaches came to stand beside me. We lingered for a little while, talking about my hopes for the QAA; Assistant Coach Wazel was especially supportive. He offered to attend the first few meetings and answer any questions people might have about the athletic department's policies.

It was pretty quiet, actually. For me, this announcement felt monumental, like jumping out of an airplane without knowing who'd packed your chute. But I also knew this moment, here in a group in front of all the coaches, wasn't where I'd see people's true reactions.

There wasn't any way to take it back now, and I just had to hope for a reasonably soft landing.

~oOo~

Back at my locker, James and Aro were already out of the showers and most of the way dressed. Liam was back from the showers as well, though still in his towel. His locker was one down from mine, and I hadn't seen him before practice because he'd been coming in early on Saturdays for extra training time. When I dialed the combo to my locker, he moved down the bench and put his duffle bag between us. I sat down and removed my cleats and socks.

"Everything okay with you?" I asked him. I noticed he wasn't moving to get dressed, but he was moving all his gear from his locker to his bag.

"M' fine." His answer was gruff, and I left it at that.

Aro drew my attention away from Liam. "McCarty, man, I hear what you're trying to do an all, but what's up with that name?"

I shot him a questioning look.

"Queer Athletes Alliance? You gotta admit it sounds a little… _gay_." For about ten seconds I thought he was seriously using the word gay to belittle a gay organization. It was just wrong on so many levels that my brain couldn't quite parse it.

Then I remembered that Aro was never serious.

"Fuck off, ass-hat," I laughed, and threw my dirty sweat socks at him.

"You fuck off, ass-_hound_," he chortled and threw them back, but he missed me and hit Liam instead.

"Both of you fuck off!" Liam snapped, slamming his locker. He picked up his bag and cleared out.

Aro and I exchanged surprised looks, but James just rolled his eyes, then closed up his locker. He'd finished dressing while Mitch and I were horsing around. I finished undressing in grim silence, wrapped a towel around my waist, and headed for the showers.

When I entered the shower room, the mild chatter faded away. Guys that had been joking and goofing around were suddenly very focused on the task of getting showered off as quickly as possible. I figured it would be like this, but that didn't make it any less degrading.

_Positive attitude_, I reminded myself. _Unashamed. I've done nothing wrong._

It didn't matter that I'd seen it all before a thousand times over the last few years on the team or that I'd always been respectful of my teammates' needs for privacy. I needed to give them time to remember who I was – Emmett, just one of the guys, not a threat, not _that fag_. It was tense. I mean, it didn't feel like one false move would start a riot, but one errant glance, one misplaced look today, just after the announcement, could jeopardize how people reacted to me.

The showers were still pretty full, even though by hanging around after the meeting with Rosalie and Coach Wazel I'd hoped to avoid the crowd. There was one open shower between two guys I didn't know very well and another between Riley and some other sprinter. I took the one by Riley, and I was especially careful to keep my eyes to myself.

You'd think that seeing me look him in the face would reassure a guy I wasn't checking out his junk. But I guess eye-contact was just too intimidating, or maybe too personal, now that everyone had to figure out how to react to me in this new context.

Riley was silent. His eyes were as big as saucers as if I'd just told him I was an undercover FBI agent or maybe a Martian. I had to remind myself that he was young and from a small agricultural community in eastern Washington, which had a reputation for being rather conservative. For all I knew, maybe I was the first gay man he'd ever met that wasn't a hair-dresser. Or if the only exposure to gay men he'd had was what got portrayed in sitcoms on TV or _Queer Eye,_ then to see a man who was gay and masculine and not flamboyant had to rock his boat at least a little.

I just nodded to him, hung up my towel next to me, and started the water.

The guy on the other side of me, Jason or Jeff or something, rinsed the soap out of his face and noticed me next to him. Immediately he shut off his water and grabbed his towel. He was out of the showers like somebody'd lit his ass on fire.

_Ignore it, _I cautioned myself_. Let it go. Give them time._

The idea that a locker room full of straight men were threatened by the lone gay man in the shower was an absurdity of the highest order. I worked too hard to get here to throw it away by acting inappropriately towards a teammate. If anything, I was the one at risk – of exclusion, of pressure to quit the team, of verbal abuse or physical violence.

Inwardly, I huffed in frustration. Outwardly, I was perhaps quieter than usual, but otherwise I stuck to my routine. Locker room showers hadn't been this awkward since puberty.

When I was finished I walked back down the rows towards my locker. My path took me by the aisle where Benjamin and Amun were speaking in Arabic. As I passed, Amun's voice got louder, and I heard Benjamin scold him sharply, followed by the slam of a locker.

"Amun! He is my friend, and I will not listen to you speak that way about him."

It didn't take much to assume they were speaking of me. I wanted to hunch my shoulders in frustration. My announcement was already causing trouble. It certainly wasn't my fault, but that didn't make it any easier to accept.

I was just distracted enough by my eavesdropping that I missed seeing Alec and Felix come around the corner, and Alec's shoulder checked me into the wall.

"Watch where you're going, bitch," he sneered at me. I wasn't intimidated by Alec, though by the smug condescension on his face I could see that he thought I should be. A scowling Felix was right behind him though, and I had to admit the thought of an enraged 270 pound defensive lineman definitely gave me pause.

"Whatever." I manufactured a laugh, flipped Alec off, and moved around them. It was a narrow line to walk: come back too aggressively and it could escalate; respond too passively and it would be open season.

As I walked away, Alec fake-coughed into his hand. "_Faggot_." My footsteps faltered slightly, but I kept going as if I hadn't heard him. If he wasn't man enough to say it to my face even with Felix as his back-up, I wasn't going to dignify it with a response. Regardless, I didn't like having my back to them.

My row was empty when I returned, and it was kind of a relief. I listened for the sound of Alec and Felix leaving the locker room, and when I was certain they had, I dropped to the bench with a sigh. Grabbing my phone from my locker, I typed out a quick text to Edward. God, I needed to see him, and I didn't quite care if my neediness came through in my text.

_**almost done here. can i see u?**_

My knee bounced impatiently. When my phone buzzed almost immediately with his reply, I let out a huge breath. His words echoed my thoughts.

_**yes. can't wait :) where?**_

_**my place? I should be home in 20**_

I sent him the address.

_**OK see u there soon**_

I snapped my phone shut and dressed as quickly as possible. The clanging sounds of lockers around me jangled my nerves, and my spine prickled with the feeling of being watched. I shook it off and booked it out of there.

~oOo~

It was only mid-afternoon and already it had been one hell of a long day. When I arrived home, lugging my bike up the stairs to my apartment, Edward was waiting there, leaning against the wall next to my door.

God damn, he looked good. I unlocked my door and wrestled my bike through the doorway, hanging it from the back tire on a hook I'd put in the ceiling. My apartment was pretty small, and it was a good way to save space and keep my bike inside so it wouldn't get stolen. I waved Edward inside.

I hated that I was feeling so jumbled – anxious and restless and even a little angry, all fidgety fight or flight even after my uneventful ride home. I closed the door and leaned back against it, scrubbing both hands roughly over my face.

"Come here."

I peeked at him over the tops of my fingers still drawing down my jaw. He was sitting on my couch, one arm reaching out towards me, beckoning.

"Come here," he said again, more softly this time.

My body lurched away from the wall where I was leaning, and three steps later I was in front of Edward, standing between his knees. His green eyes looked up at me like he knew just exactly how I felt and it made him sad. The hand reaching for me had latched itself into the front of my shirt, and it was too much. It was all just too much.

I dropped to my knees and he scooted forward, wrapping his arms around me and rubbing my back gently. I just let my head sink to his shoulder and held onto him for the longest time.

Eventually my knees started to ache, and I moved to sit beside him. Edward took my hand and laced our fingers together.

"Wanna tell me about it?" he asked quietly.

And I did.

So I closed my eyes and opened my mouth and just told him everything.

Later, when my stomach rumbled, he smiled at me and dragged me into my kitchen. He started looking through cupboards and the fridge trying to find me something to eat, and it was just like the night before when he'd been scavenging through his own kitchen to make us nachos.

I dug through the fridge and found two beers and the left-over Thai food from our dinner at Angel's and popped it in the microwave.

"I thought left-over Thai food was the breakfast of champions," he teased, standing close behind me with his hands on my hips.

"Yeah, well, I was saving it," I joked and covered his hands with mine, letting him know that I liked them there. The microwave beeped, and I took the steaming food to the bar.

"I'll share it with you." Edward popped the caps off both our beers with the opener he kept on his keychain.

"You eat, Emmett. I already had lunch, and besides, the way your stomach was grumbling it sounds like you need some fuel." He took a sip from his bottle.

"Hmm," I agreed. Moments later the food was gone, and I was chasing it down with my local IPA. Gotta love the northwest for their beer.

When that was drained and I'd had a glass of water too, I felt a hundred times better. I think Edward could tell, if the small smile on his face was any indication.

"I know what you need," he said, pulling me gently by my belt loops. He walked us backwards down the hall.

"This one?" he asked, pointing to my bedroom door, and I nodded.

He opened it and stepped inside, still leading me by my belt loops. When the backs of his legs hit the mattress, he started to tug my shirt over my head. I helped him remove it.

When it was off, I pulled him close and dipped my head down to kiss him. Just as my lips were about to brush his, he spoke.

"Need a nap?"

"No." I shook my head slowly, my face still less than an inch from his, suddenly acutely aware I hadn't kissed him since we parted last night. Each time I dipped my face closer, he backed away at the last second to speak, a coy smile on his face.

"You don't need a nap?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Very sure, Edward."

Finally I caught his lips with mine and got a sweet but chaste peck for my troubles.

I groaned in mock-annoyance at his game and reached for his shirt. He was already working on the button to my shorts.

"You first," he said.

"I want to see you, Edward," I answered, moving my hands purposely under his shirt, stroking his stomach and chest. He looked me in the eyes and lowered my zipper slowly, never taking his eyes off mine as he slipped the shorts off my hips and let them fall to the floor. He reached for the waistband of my underwear, but I stopped him.

"I want to see you," I commanded.

"Okay then," he smirked, giving me a little push. "Have a seat." I sat on the edge of the bed. "Go on, get comfortable." He motioned with his hand, and I scooted back until I was half lying on the bed, half leaning against the headboard. He stood at the foot of the bed with his hands resting lightly against his thighs. His behavior had my curiosity piqued.

Edward looked down at himself and drew his hands slowly up his body, stopping when he reached the hem of the fitted black t-shirt he was wearing. My eyes followed the path of his hands of course, but they snapped up to look at his face when his voice broke the silence. "You ever go dancing, Emmett?" He cut his eyes at me, and a slight smile curled on his lips. He started to sway languidly to the phantom beat of some music playing in his head. The fingers of one hand slipped under the bottom edge of his shirt, and my eyes followed the movement again. He raised it just enough to show me the sliver of skin just above his low-riding blue jeans and the waistband of his black briefs.

Edward pivoted almost lazily, his hips undulating in slow ovals. His hands kept moving up his chest, though his shirt dropped back down, until he had his hands laced together behind the back of his neck with his elbows out and his back was to me. The pose accentuated his lightly sculpted arms and shoulders, and his fitted black t-shirt clung to the sweep of his back as it tapered to that perfect butt. Damn, I wanted my hands on him, but I wanted to see what he had in store for me even more.

Edward reached one hand down the back of his neck to fist the collar of his shirt. He dragged the shirt over his head incredibly slowly, revealing himself to me inch by inch. When it was off, he peeked over his shoulder at me as he dropped it to the floor. I distinctly saw his gaze travel down to my crotch and linger.

_Ohhh, fuck._

I felt myself hardening under his stare, and a quick glance down to my lap confirmed I was starting to tent the front of my cotton trunks.

As he rotated towards me again, his head was tilted back just slightly, and his eyes were closed. I watched the muscles play under the skin of his belly and stared unabashedly at his pelvis as it swiveled in unhurried spirals.

His hands returned to the waist of his jeans, and he fingered the button for a moment before flicking it open. He didn't bother to unzip; instead he just peeled back the flap of his fly and let the zipper creep down under the pressure.

I pressed the heel of my hand down against my cock, needing a kind of pressure myself. The whole time Edward was undressing for me, he never let up on the deliberate, sexy roll of his hips. His jeans, low-slung to begin with, slipped slightly lower with each revolution. His hands stroked slowly up the flat of his stomach, over his chest, up his neck, and carded into the hair over his ears.

He was pivoting away from me again, and his open jeans slid further down on his hips, baring at least a hand's width of his briefs to me – black like his shirt had been. Fucking sexy. One hand trailed down his side and pushed at the waist of his jeans. They slid down to his knees. He paused to step out of them carefully, taking a moment to toe out of his socks at the same time.

Edward was naked except for his trunks which were also low-rise; I knew because I could see the shallow dimples at the bottom of his spine. He looked over his shoulder at me again, gauging my reaction as he nudged the waistband of his briefs down the gorgeous swell of his ass.

_Ohhh, double fuck._

He let the fabric settle back into place, hiding what he'd been about to reveal.

"Tease," I breathed.

He laughed, and the husky sound sent a thrill up my spine. "I'm not teasing. I'm just… advertising."

"Is that right?" I felt my eyebrows climb.

"You know, polling consumer interest." He turned to face me fully. The outline of his hard-on was acutely evident through the taut cotton fabric, and I couldn't help myself. My hand slipped into my own shorts to grip my dick. I gave it a rough squeeze, and then moved my thumb and forefinger to circle the base and pressed my hand down, pointing my erection up away from my body. I groaned at the relief the sensation brought me. Edward's cheeks flushed as he watched me handle my cock, and I groaned again. _Oh God._

Edward approached the bed. "Let me do that."

He walked onto the mattress on his knees, then dropped forward onto his hands also, crawling up my body like he was the predator and I was the prey. _Okay, I can handle that, too._

I took my hand out of my shorts and reached for him. He backed away just beyond my reach.

"No touching," he said, smirking at me and shaking his head. "Maybe you should put your hands behind your head or something." The mischievous look on his face amplified my curiosity, but I teased him back on impulse. I complied slowly, bringing my hands up behind my head and flexing my biceps just a little.

"Is this how you want me?" I smirked back.

Edward's green eyes narrowed at me just a little, but all he did was nod once before sliding back so he could get access to my trunks.

He dipped his fingers into my waistband and grazed the flesh of my belly there, watching for the way my cock jumped when his fingers brushed a certain spot. When I thought I'd go crazy from the teasing, he took pity on me and started to remove the last bit of clothing I had on. I raised my hips to make it easier for him to get them off, and it didn't escape my notice the way he eyed my cock as it got closer to his face when I did.

By the time I was completely naked, I was almost painfully hard, but oh, it was the sweetest ache.

He bent down abruptly and licked me from base to tip. My head whipped back reflexively, my knuckles suffering as I crushed them into the headboard with the force of it.

"_Unh!_"

Edward grasped me in one hand, bracing his other hand against the bed, and took me deep into his mouth in a single sweep.

_Fucking yes!_

I gritted my teeth, closing my eyes to better revel in the sensations. I felt the flat of his tongue stroking and curling around the underside of my cock. I felt him nibble and suck at the sensitive frenulum just under the tip when he withdrew. I felt his mouth embrace my length again and slide down it until I was hitting the tight space at the back of his throat. I clenched my hands into fists and arched my neck against them to keep from grabbing his head.

His lips were close-fitting around my shaft as he drew back. He gathered his breath and dove down again. I spread my legs for him as he reached for my sac, lightly tickling the sensitive underside of it.

Edward was exceptionally good at what he was doing. I tried not to think about how he gained those skills. Why be jealous when I was the one enjoying his attentions? He moved on me with an unrelenting rhythm, alternately teasing my perineum and raking his blunt nails up the inside of my thigh. I felt a liquid heat running under my skin wherever his hands and mouth moved, and it was all the more prominent in contrast with the thrilling chills I had everywhere that he wasn't touching. I think he knew exactly what he was doing.

My body was starting to beg for him. I wanted his hands sliding all over my chest. I wanted the weight of his body covering me. I wanted the feel of our legs tangling together. I wanted the heat of his lips on mine. I wanted to stick my tongue as far into his mouth as I could get it. And all at the same time I thought I would go insane if he stopped doing what he was doing.

He drove me consciously and deliberately to the edge, and just when I was upon it he suddenly stilled, pulling me back at the last second, holding me there poised and ready. I gripped the headboard and groaned at the exquisite agony. When he started moving on me again it was so very slow but so very steady.

Incrementally his paced increased, and I felt the chaos in my body escalate uncontrollably. I started to shake and tighten, flare and erupt. This time there was nothing that could stop me from falling over the precipice.

At the very last possible moment, Edward popped me out of his mouth and jacked me off instead. I was coming too hard to care or wonder why.

My body came down from the high bit by bit, calming itself lazily and taking a leisurely view towards collecting the pieces of itself that had just flown apart.

"Damn, baby," I panted, when my breathing started to recover and I could open my eyes again. I gratefully loosened the stiff grip I was holding on the headboard and reached for him. "Your turn."

"No touching," he said again, and he was surprisingly stern.

"What, seriously?" My eyes widened.

"You _said_ you wanted to _see_ me. Remember?" His voice was more playful this time but still held an edge to it. He meant what he was saying.

Edward moved to straddle my thighs once he saw I was taking him seriously. He still had his briefs on, but he pushed the front of them down as far as they could go while he was astride me, tucking the elastic waistband underneath his sac with his left hand. Then he gripped his erection with his right and worked it around his shaft from base to tip, coating it with something slippery. And that's when I figured out what he was using as lube.

Oh.

My.

God.

I'd died and gone to heaven… my boy was _dirty_.

I couldn't kiss him. I couldn't touch him. All I could do was absorb every detail.

The way his eyes were bright with the heady elation of watching me watch him.

The way his wickedly square jaw clenched and the muscles in his arms flexed as he chased his pleasure. The way his thighs rubbed against mine as he bucked and rolled, sheathing himself into his own hand right in front of me. The way his soft moans quickly turned guttural and unrestrained as his hands moved faster. The way his eyelids dropped shut and his head thrashed from side to side as he lost his composure.

The way my come in his hand made his cock shiny and slippery as he stroked himself off.

I felt my breathing change with his, my heart rate racing again. I groaned along with him more than once. The look on his face was unbelievable. I watched the bliss race across his features and felt his come land on my stomach. Edward's chin dropped to his chest as his breathing heaved, and he braced himself with one hand splayed against me as the other eked out the last drops of his release.

With a final grunt and shudder, he slumped off to the side, sprawling on his back next to me on the bed.

"Come here you beautiful, dirty boy," I demanded.

He cracked up laughing with his eyes still closed and his chest still rising and falling steadily in the aftermath of his orgasm. His mirth was wonderfully at odds with the limp satiety of his spent body. I dragged him to me and hovered over him, propped on one elbow and waiting for him to catch his breath and open his eyes.

"Fucking kiss me already, would you?" I grinned down at him as I said it, and there was nothing in the world that would match the wide and beautiful answering smile on his face.

~oOo~

When we got to the bar, I spotted Rose and Leah just after we cleared the door. Edward needed to visit the men's room, and I pointed out the booth where the girls were.

"I'm going to grab a pitcher. Meet you over there?" He nodded and smiled at me before heading to the washrooms. I waved to Rose and made the internationally recognized sign for 'need beer' and pointed to the bar.

Five minutes later I was threading through the Saturday night crowd with a pitcher of amber and four pint glasses over my head. I kissed Rose on the cheek and tugged Leah's ubiquitous braids. They each had an empty in front of them, so I poured and asked Rose for the dirt on how the girl's team had handled the news I'd shared today.

She snorted. "Honestly, you should have seen some of the disappointed faces, Bear. Though some of those girls are just bitches."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, like that Lauren Mallory. As soon as she realized you were unattainable, she was all snooty about it." She wrinkled her nose like there was a bad smell and puckered her lips like she'd been sucking on a lemon. Then she flicked her hair off her shoulder. Leah looked amused, and I had to laugh before taking a sip of my drink. It was pretty good impersonation of Lauren actually.

"And Jessica Stanley just wanted to know if you ever gave me tips on giving good head."

I about spit my beer all over us both. Probably because it was a little too close to home for comfort. Rosie and I _had_ gotten rowdy drunk together a time or two and discussed… _technique_.

"Ew," Leah snickered, "Spare me the details please!"

"Didn't anybody approach you about the meeting?" I coughed out.

"Not yet, hon. Just a bunch of gossip-mongers so far." She squeezed my arm. "Give it time."

Finally Edward appeared, and I introduced him to Leah. "I've heard so much about you… from _Rosalie_." She gave me a pointed look. I just laughed and pushed Edward's beer towards him.

"Uh, nice to meet you." Edward ducked his head a little and scratched the back of his neck.

"You too," she grinned.

"Edward," Rosie greeted him with a warm smile.

"Hedwig," he recovered from his momentary shyness, grinning back at her.

She mock-groaned. "Every time you see me you're going to be picturing that hair, aren't you." She made waves around her head with her hands.

"Probably," he chuckled. "But don't worry; it's a compliment. John Cameron Mitchell is awesome."

"Hm," she agreed. "The songwriter, Stephen Trask, was kinda cute, too."

"Heh. You and my sister should talk."

"What? He's not your type?"

"Not anymore." Edward peeked over the rim of his glass at me quickly, trying to hide his smirk.

I just watched them – my best friend and my boyfriend – getting along, cold beer in my hand, and enjoyed it.

.

.

.

* * *

A/N: I've got two brand new one-shots out:

**Believe This  
**An entry for the Me and Mr. McCarty contest – voting until June 29th. It's raw and real, angsty and sweet, and on top of all that it's _goddamn_ sexy. (All human. Emmett/Alice)

**Angelus ex Abyssus**  
A collaboration with the lovely and talented **winterstale**. In 1943, Emmett McCarty's plane is shot down by anti-aircraft artillery. In 1961, Rosalie Hale travels to Italy and runs into the Volturi. I guarantee you've never seen this Emmett or Rose before! (Alternate universe. Vamp Emmett/Human Rosalie)

_Edward wants you to find them on my profile and give 'em a shot. (You know how he loves anything having to do with Emmett.) He says he'll give you a teaser from Potential chapter 9 if you do. I told him bribery never works, but he doesn't listen to me, dirty boy. ;p_


	10. Fused, pt 2

**Disclaimer**: SM owns Twilight.

Thank you **mac214**, **winterstale**, **annetteskitty**, and** JasperWhitlockHale'sMan** for sticking with me.

**Warning**: Fictional characters may use hateful or debasing speech in this and subsequent chapters which does not reflect the views of the author.

**A/N:** My apologies for the terribly long wait, dear readers. This chapter picks up with Edward's Saturday morning while Emmett was at practice.

* * *

-o-

_My web browser was still open to the page Emmett showed me last night, and I started by skimming over the selection of coming out stories that were posted. There were several dozen of them spanning most of the country, in small towns and large, at state colleges and private universities. It was all rather heartening. If they had all been from large cities or liberal states, it could have painted a different picture. There was some variety in the situations of the stories being told – some coaches, a few professional players who came out after retiring – but most of the stories were about college athletes coming out at school and being accepted by their coaches and teams. I could see how Emmett would find these accounts reassuring in their familiarity and positive outcome._

_I dug in and began reading in earnest._

In the midst of a page full of positive stories, there was one article that was pretty discouraging. It was five years old now, but the gist of it was depressing. Several students were quoted but all on condition of anonymity. Apparently despite UCLA's reputation for being an extremely diverse and tolerant institution, homophobia and anti-gay sentiment had still been pervasive in the athletics department at the time the article had been written.

It was exactly the kind of thing that made me worry for Emmett. Despite an administrative policy that discouraged discrimination at UW, how was it being followed in the athletic department? It was one thing to deal with teammates who might have a problem with Emmett being gay. There were ways to approach wary peers, and beyond that there were channels for reporting harassment. It would be something else entirely if the coaches and other faculty involved chose to look the other way or, worse, covertly condoned it.

I looked out the window at the streaks of blue peeking through wispy white clouds stretching across the sky and remembered a day I'd tried hard to forget.

-o-  
…_six years ago…_

The freshly-raked diamond behind the high school was dusty because we'd had such a dry spring. The sky was a bright, robin's egg blue, and the clouds looked like fluffs of cotton candy. It was a perfect day for junior varsity try-outs. Royce and I had both been looking forward to this day for a really long time.

But Royce King had turned into a great big jerk.

I could feel the scowl on my face. He was here too, all right – already in the dug-out with his _new_ friends. I scuffed the toe of my cleats across the ground. He'd been my friend pretty much ever since that first season of little league after my family moved here from the suburbs outside of Chicago when I was ten and right on up until last summer.

I didn't really get what was happening at first. One minute we'd been friends who did everything together there was to do in this boring town and the next minute he said I wasn't "cool," and he didn't want to be seen with me. He stopped hanging out with me altogether over the summer, and when school started in the fall he sat in the back of the bus with the older kids. My dad tried to speak to me about it a few times, talking about peer pressure and social cliques and the way friends sometimes grow apart, but it didn't make me feel any better. Royce had changed and I hadn't; somehow I wasn't good enough to be his friend anymore, and I didn't even know why.

I sure as hell figured it out later, though.

"Cullen!" It was my last turn up at bat. I trudged past Royce and his band of idiots, neatly dodging Tyler Crowley's foot when he tried to trip me up as I walked by. I didn't fall for that one anymore.

I took my stance at the plate, checked my grip, and raised the bat over my shoulder. I hadn't made a great showing my first two times up because Royce and his crew had been trying to distract me with the old "hey batter" chatter. But the second two tries I hadn't let them break my focus so easily, and I was feeling more confident.

And they were quiet this time. Maybe they'd lost interest finally?

It didn't matter. Brady Munro, one of the seniors from the varsity team, was on the pitcher's mound this time. He was seriously nice to look at, and my stomach was queasy with the excitement of competition and the anticipation of impressing him. The sun was warm on my skin but not too bright that I had to squint, and I just had a feeling this next hit was going out of the park. I flexed my fingers and twisted my hands around the taped grip of the bat.

There was the wind-up.

And here was the pitch!

"_Homo_." Cough, cough. "_Cullen's a homo!_" Cough.

I flinched. My swing still connected with the ball, but it was a pop fly, easily caught, and I was out in the blink of an eye.

I turned to look at Coach Hammond. No way would he let that kind of talk fly on his diamond, right?

His eyes flicked to mine briefly and then flicked away with a slight grimace. He grunted once then spit on the ground before turning away from me. "Crowley, you're up!" The butterflies in my stomach turned into a brick.

I sat through the last few minutes of try-outs just numb. I knew by the whispers and snickering that guys were talking about me, and I heard Coach dismiss us all to the lockers after the last kid went to bat, but it was all just going on around me. It didn't feel like I was really there. It felt like it was happening to someone else.

I sat in the dugout for a long time after everyone else left.

Eventually I pulled myself off the bench and headed for the lockers. I wished I could have just walked home so I wouldn't have to face any of those guys again so soon, but my backpack was in there and I needed it.

So I felt pretty lucky when I saw almost everyone had cleared out already by the time I got to the locker where I'd stashed my stuff.

Until I realized just who was still there waiting for me.

This row of lockers was only open at one end. The locker with my backpack in it was at the very back, and Royce stood blocking my only exit. Throughout the school year he and his buddies had called me names, played little pranks on me like putting gum on my chair, and occasionally tried to trip me. It was more petty and annoying than anything else. But there was something menacing about the way he was crowding me into the dead end of the row as he advanced.

"Why bother, huh?" he sneered. "You won't even make the first cut."

I lifted my chin and squared my shoulders. "What's the matter? Afraid of a little competition?"

"No way a faggot like you is competition for me. Why don't you just quit, _Eddie_." I hated being called that and he knew it. That was one more problem with having your best friend turn into your worst enemy – they already knew all your weak spots.

"Why don't you just make me, _Royce-ie_."

"That's a good idea. Why don't I?" There was an ice in his tone I'd never heard before.

Royce shoved me hard, and I lost my balance, hitting the wall behind me with a dull thud. I started to slide down the wall, and out of pure habit I reached out to Royce to steady myself. He shifted just out of reach and watched me fall, a sneer of disgust marring his features.

I looked at him. Who was this person? Royce King had been my friend for more than four years, and sure, our friendship had blown up in my face… but the guy standing in front of me now? I didn't know him at all. Everything seemed to be moving too slowly but somehow too quickly for me to react. Royce drew back his fist.

The punch never landed though, as a big hand swooped down and caught his arm mid-swing and dragged him away from me.

"King! Leave that kid alone. Coach will bench you for that crap."

From my place on the hard cement floor I looked up at the broad, bare back still wet from the shower of the gorgeous boy who was standing between Royce and me now. Of all the guys who could have seen me like this, why did it have to be Brady? I could feel the blood rush to my cheeks and drain away just as quickly as painful humiliation warred with teenage hormones.

"Get your hands off me. Coach won't do shit. He doesn't want this pussy on the team any more than I do." Royce twisted out of Brady's grasp.

"What's with you, Royce? I thought you and Edward were friends?"

"No fucking way," Royce spat. "You won't catch me friends with no queer." His eyes flicked to me and then away again. I saw a muscle jump in his cheek.

He was afraid.

Scared I was going to tell Brady about the last time I spent the night at his house, the last time I saw him at all really before he changed, before all this shit had come between us. Royce's parents had gone away for the weekend. We snuck some of his dad's liquor and streaked through the sprinklers naked after dark. That had been Royce's big idea.

And I certainly wasn't the one who started us wrestling in the cold, slippery grass.

I should have known better. I should have stopped it as soon as he started it. The way the droplets of water glittered in the dim light coming off the patio, the way our damp skin would slip and then stick and then slip again as we grappled and twisted on the slick lawn… I should never have let my guard down, should never have let it go so far.

I just stared back at Royce, my teeth grinding together painfully with the way my jaw was clenched tight. Backstabbing was his deal, not mine. I could feel a tiny trickle of blood dripping from a cut at my lip, and I wiped it away with the back of my hand.

I didn't even care anymore that I'd blown try-outs because of this asshole who'd once been my best friend. I didn't want to be on any team that would take him anyway.

Three more years. Just three more years, and I'd be out of this shit-hole town for good.

"Alright now," Brady tried to talk Royce down. "Why don't you just chill out. Whatever's got your panties in a twist can be settled later after you've had some time to cool off."

"If anybody's wearing panties here it's Cullen, not me!" Royce snapped.

What an a-hole! "You better not look in any mirrors, Royce. You might not like what you see," I fumed back at him.

Royce charged at me, but Brady blocked him. "No way, man. You get on out of here before Coach hears this mess and hands all three of us our asses."

Royce threw Brady off him again and pointed at me. "You better watch your back, Eddie," he sneered. "You better fucking watch your back."

He turned on his heel and stomped away, slamming his open hand against the metal lockers just once as he left.

-o-

Royce made good on his promise all right. Even though I didn't bother to show up for the second day of try-outs, didn't play baseball that year or any other, even though I never went out for football the next fall like he did, and avoided all the school jocks, especially his crew, even though I never told anyone about that night… he still went out of his way to make my three remaining years of high school a living hell.

I guess, though – looking back on things from the distance of six years – I guess Brady had been standing up for me that day. I hadn't seen it then. At the time it had seemed like just another example of the in crowd protecting their own. After all, Brady had stopped Royce for his own good, to keep him out of trouble, right? But that didn't explain why Brady had stuck around to offer me a hand up or why he'd offered to get me an icepack from the first aid kit.

How different would it have been if I'd realized at least one person on the team would stick up for me? Or if I'd gotten the kind of support from Coach Hammond that Emmett got from Coach Banner?

But I didn't want to think about Royce King. He didn't deserve one more minute of my time, and I was long past feeling sorry for myself.

It shouldn't have surprised me meeting Emmett was dredging up those memories, I suppose. He certainly presented an opposing argument to my general distrust of jocks. But still it chafed at me that I was thinking about myself right now. This research was about Emmett, about amassing the kind of supporting evidence we'd need if there was any overt backlash after the announcement today or the article tomorrow.

Lying on the sofa with my laptop, I checked the time and wondered what he was going through right now. Had practice finished? Was Emmett facing his team to tell them about the article? Was he scared?

I wanted him here with me, smiling and safe.

And preferably naked.

I snickered out loud at myself but stopped abruptly as my thoughts veered in a different direction entirely. I realized the part of me that missed Peter was completely gone. The desire for him that had lingered for so long was just extinguished, like being slapped in the face with a bucket of cold water. _Eleven fucking months I wasted on that prick! _Plus another six, no, seven months brooding after we broke up. For so long I'd been clinging to and pining over the good moments with him during that year of my life. Now those memories were just tumbleweeds and dust. I had the sudden and euphoric urge to just sweep them away.

I went into my room and grabbed the small waste basket by my bed, tucking it under my arm and surveying the space.

There was the beer coaster on my desk from our six month anniversary… it went in the trash. On my dresser I found a book of matches from the time I'd let Peter talk me into checking out that goth dance club with him… into the trash. An envelope of concert ticket stubs was in my sock and underwear drawer. I flipped through the printed bits of paper and tried to decide if there were any that triggered strong memories of that cheating bastard. Just one of those went into the trash. Peter and I had only seen one big concert together. Most of the live music we'd seen had been at small venues with a simple hand stamp to show we'd paid the cover.

A trip to my closet unearthed a t-shirt from the same concert, and I threw it across the hall onto Ali's bed. I would let her take it to that little consignment shop on the Ave and get a few bucks for it or trade it for something she wanted. Peter still had a few of my favorite band tees, but I knew I'd never see those again. _Fucker._

I went into the kitchen and put the waste basket down so I could pull my favorite pint glass out of the cabinet. Peter had bought us matching pint glasses with the emblem of a local brewery when I got my fake ID. I didn't really want to put it in the trash or the recycling, but I didn't want it hanging around anymore either. And I didn't want the chance to cave to temptation and pull it back out later. So I grabbed a sticky note and wrote the word FREE on it in thick black marker. I stuck the note on the glass and put it out in the hall by the stairwell on the sill of a little window there. It'd be gone in no time.

Back inside my apartment I went to the kitchen again. In the silverware drawer I found a little pile of tiny plastic mermaids. These were from the night Peter had gotten his tattoo. We'd gone immediately to the swank bar and grill across the street to celebrate by overindulging in frou-frou mixed drinks with silly names. Once we'd seen the mermaid drink decorations we'd decided to collect one in each color. Peter flirted shamelessly with the bartender, Maggie. She made sure to give us a new color of mermaid with each drink we ordered, whether or not they were supposed to have one.

Peter had always been quite the exhibitionist, and that day he was sticking his tongue down my throat and grabbing my ass by the third drink. Since leaving Forks for college, I had been steadily finding my way further and further out of the closet, but I was still pretty reserved when it came to public displays of affection. It was lucky for me we'd been in Cap Hill where rainbow flags and demonstrative gay couples were part of the norm. Maggie's blond baby-dreads bounced as she laughed and just enjoyed the show.

Over the months we were together, Peter systematically broke down my reticence to kissing and touching in public. I shook my head, remembering some of his antics. His was sometimes a tough love approach, but I had to admit it had been effective.

I looked at the five colorful plastic pieces in my hand. One of them was a translucent cobalt blue that made me think of the color of Emmett's eyes. For the first time in months I felt grateful for Peter. For better or for worse, the time I spent with him had changed me. Without this one lesson from Peter, I may not have been ready for Emmett now that I'd found him. Four tiny mermaids went into the trash, but I put the blue one in my pocket.

I tied a knot in the trash bag and decided to run it down to the dumpster now for good measure. When I jogged back up the stairs I noticed the pint glass was gone, on its way to a new home already.

I went to my room and opened a window to let the fresh air blow in, and I waited for Emmett to call.

-o-

When Alice and Jasper returned from their afternoon adventures, Emmett still hadn't called, and I was starting to go a little stir crazy. I came out of my room to greet them.

I could hear Jasper shuffling around in the kitchen and the pop-pop-pop of microwave popcorn cooking. "Oh good, you're home. We brought a movie." Alice waggled a DVD case in my direction.

"Not again," I groaned in mock annoyance, but Alice wasn't having it.

"Shut up. You love Wallace and Gromit as much we do."

The microwave dinged, and Jasper emerged with two piping hot bags of popcorn, throwing one to me. "Hey, man." I caught it and bounced it between my hands until I could grab it at a corner without burning my fingers on the escaping steam. "You gonna hang out with us for a bit?"

"Yeah." I smiled and settled into one corner of the sofa while he and my sister hogged the rest, her legs over his lap and his hand on her thigh. I ignored it and we started the film. It didn't usually bother me too much when they cuddled together as long as they kept the PDA to a minimum. Today it just made me notice how much I wanted Emmett around.

Sometime around the end of the first short film on the disc, I noticed Jasper was getting a little more handsy. He was having a difficult time resisting her, I guess, because he couldn't tear his eyes off her as she licked the butter and salt off her fingers even though it was his favorite part of the movie. I threw a handful of popcorn at her.

"Cut it out, you guys."

"Hey!" She grabbed her favorite pillow, the one shaped like Jack Skellington's head, and tried to whack me with it. I grabbed it out of her hand and tucked it behind my back, smugly crossing my arms behind my head.

"Give it back."

"Nope."

"Give. It. Back." Alice scowled at me, her hands curled into claws.

"Not gonna," she pounced on me, tickling my ribs, "happen!" I squeaked, half laughing, half cringing from the feel of her fingers digging into my sides.

"I think I'm glad I'm an only child." Jasper shook his head at us. Just then my phone made the noise that signaled a new text. I scrambled out of my sister's evil clutches and dug my phone out of my pocket.

"A ha!" Alice snatched her pillow off the sofa where I'd left it.

I ignored her and opened the text. It was from Emmett.

_**almost done here. can i see u?**_

I replied quickly.

_**yes. can't wait :) where?**_

And when he invited me to his place, I jumped at the chance. I patted Ali on the head as I passed behind the sofa on my way to the door.

"Is that Emmett?" Jasper asked.

I nodded.

"Told ya that fortune cookie was good news," Alice smirked.

I didn't have any comeback for that. Probably because the shit-eating grin on my face said it all for me.

I got to his apartment before he did and waited outside his door. It was surprisingly sexy to watch him coming up the stairs with his bicycle over his shoulder, and I felt myself swallow involuntarily when I saw the way he was looking back at me.

But things were awkward as he let me in to his apartment. We hardly knew how to greet each other. I chewed my lip and sat down on his couch as I struggled with figuring him out. The way he was scrubbing his hands over his face and the defeated hunch to his normally open and confident shoulders made him look positively wiped out. What did he need right now that I could give him?

"Come here," I beckoned him to the couch. Instead of sitting next to me as I assumed he would though, he just stood in front of me. I looked up into his face.

I knew at least one thing I could do. I could listen.

-o-

Emmett's stomach announced its emptiness, and I dragged him into the kitchen. I must have looked like an idiot searching through his cabinets; it's not like I could cook worth a damn. Alice's dig at my skills in the kitchen were pretty accurate, unfortunately.

But he'd been through so much today, and who knew if things would get better or if they would get worse after the article came out. I wanted to do _something_.

Luckily he was able to feed himself. When he was done I tried to get him to lay down for a nap with me. I just felt this overriding sense of wanting to hide him away from the world for a little while, to watch over him while he slept.

He had a slightly different idea of how he wanted to spend the afternoon.

"I want to see you," he said to me. Twice. He was a little pouty and a little demanding. Part of me wanted to tease him, and part of me wanted to give him exactly what he wanted. And then I realized that I could do both.

Sometime later, after I'd given him his pleasure and then taken my own, he groaned one last time and called me beautiful.

And dirty.

His exact words were "Come here, you beautiful, dirty boy," and it made me laugh even though my chest was still heaving as I struggled to catch my breath.

He had a point.

I may have gotten a little carried away.

Using his come to lube my cock wasn't the safest sex in the book, and I wasn't usually so reckless. But I couldn't regret a single second of it.

Not the provocative way I'd run my hands over myself, undulating to the slow, hypnotic beats of a Portishead song in my memory. Not the way I'd bared my skin to him slowly, piece by piece. Not the way my heart rate had increased as I watched for the reactions on his face and in his body.

Certainly not the way I'd sucked him thoroughly before making him come into my hand.

And not even the way I'd stroked myself off while he watched. The faster my heart had raced, the more I had wanted to slow down, make it last longer. But I had just been too worked up – the musky taste of his cock still on my tongue, the feel of his thighs under mine, the weight of his eyes on my body, the way he seemed to pant and groan along with me even though he'd already come, the silky-scratchy feel of his chest hair under my hand as I braced myself against the rushing onslaught of my orgasm…

I was limp, sprawled across the bed where I had slumped over after coming so, so hard. Emmett dragged me close, and I felt him hovering over me. When I recovered enough to open my eyes, he was grinning.

"Fucking kiss me already, would you?"

Oh, yeah. That I could do.

His belly was sticky and so was my hand, but neither of us cared as we clutched each other, kissing deeply. Honestly, I think he liked me… dirty. Though the muscles in my belly twitched at the thought, there was no desperate lust driving this kiss. That had been well-sated, leaving behind a slow sensual meeting of lips and tongues – tasting, memorizing, remembering – as we pressed closer and closer to each other. Emmett covered my body with his as if he didn't want any part of his skin not to be touching my skin, and I melted under the amazing feel of his weight crushing me into the bed.

I wanted to spend as much time as possible under him just like this, and when he shifted his weight off me a few moments later it was too soon. He didn't go far, just slid to the side a bit and braced himself on his forearms, our kisses slowing and allowing more time to breathe in between.

I thought about what I'd suggested earlier, watching his reaction as I teased him with a glimpse of my ass. Not teasing, though, not really. And his raspy "Is that right?" sounded like interest. Of course, we needed to have a certain conversation first.

There was time, though. This was worth taking our time.

Emmett ran his hand over my chest and down my belly, and the movement drew my attention to the fact that my boxer-briefs were sticky since I'd never actually gotten them all the way off of me. Emmett noticed, too, and kissed my temple.

"Shower?" he offered.

"Shower," I accepted.

-o-

There was a muted ringing from the pocket of Emmett's discarded pants. After our shower, we'd toweled off and then climbed back into bed naked, leaving our clothes exactly where we'd left them. He bent over the edge of the bed to grab his phone.

"It's Rose," he said after looking at the screen.

I smiled, encouraging him to take his friend's call, then put my head back down on the pillow and closed my eyes.

"Hey, babydoll. Whatcha doin'?" he answered the phone, and I could hear the smile in his voice as I listened to his half of the conversation. "Yeah? Sounds fun. Lemme ask Edward. Yeah, we're hangin' out at my place." He laughed, a deep throaty chuckle that had me open my eyes to see the expression on his face. His eyes were dark as they raked across the line where the navy blue sheet draped across my hips then up, up my chest until popping up to my face at last. "I'm pleading the fifth on that one," he said to her, and I felt my cheeks heat.

"Hold on a sec, Rosie." He cupped his hand over the phone and gave me a questioning look. "She's inviting us to go get a beer. You wanna go?"

I just nodded. I could feel my blush spreading, the warmth of it moving down into my chest. _Us_. I couldn't have held back the smile curving my lips if I'd wanted to.

Emmett let out a slow breath that was almost a whistle, almost a groan, before something Rose said grabbed his attention again.

"Yeah. Sounds good. We'll be there. You too." He snapped the phone closed and dropped it on his nightstand without looking.

His eyes were raking over me again, and I marveled at the way his dimpled grin could be so sweet when the look in his eyes was so wicked. It did something weird to me – that look – making my skin flush and prickle and my breathing unsteady.

He spoke slowly, like each word took a whole breath. "You look _so damn good_ in my bed."

-o-

If I had wondered whether or not Emmett was the touchy-feely type in public, the question was answered as soon as we stepped onto the sidewalk outside of his apartment. The first thing he did was to hook his arm around my neck and draw me in for a quick kiss next to my ear. He kept his arm around me, and we fell into an easy rhythm as we hoofed it to the bar where we would meet up with Rose. His grin was infectious, and I had played some part in putting it there; no way could I see that smile without feeling my lips curl in response.

When we got to the bar, I took a quick detour to the men's room and then joined Emmett at the table. Rose was there, looking different without her track uniform and the severe ponytail she wore when I'd seen her compete. Her straight blonde hair spilled down her back, and she looked relaxed and feminine in her jeans and a silky looking red top. Next to her was a shorter young woman with a multitude of long, dark brown braids who was looking me over with open curiosity. I guessed she was Emmett's friend Leah.

Leah actually kicked off the introductions, and after I teased Rosalie a bit, I asked her how she knew Emmett and Rosalie.

"I met Emmett first, through the Q Center," Leah answered, "but it wasn't until Rose and I met at the self-defense class I help teach that we all started hanging out together."

"Self-defense class? Really?" I tried to picture the tall blonde and diminutive brunette before me throwing off an attacker. Rosalie was tall and toned and struck me as the kind of person who knew how to stand up for herself. Leah, on the other hand, was smaller and had delicate features. I had a hard time imagining her unleashing the kind of power she must be capable of if she was good enough to teach. That would be interesting to witness. "Have you ever had to use what you learned to take somebody down?"

"Not really," Rose hedged, sipping her beer with nonchalance, but I noticed her fingers tightening on the glass.

Leah added, "You'd be surprised how many times just taking a strong stance and projecting a loud, firm 'No!' will shake up someone who's getting out of line."

I felt my eyebrows rise as I absorbed that. "I bet it does. Where do you teach it, Leah?"

"On campus. Why?" She broke out in a grin. "Wanna come take my class?"

"Um, I was thinking I'd like to observe one, if you don't mind."

"It's not just for girls, Edward," Rosalie interjected.

"I'm not saying I wouldn't have anything to learn," I deferred politely, determined not to think about Royce again today. "I was just thinking it might make a good subject for an article."

"Hey, has Alice ever taken a class like that?" Emmett asked me.

"I don't think so. She's already pretty feisty, and I have the bruised ribs to prove it," I joked, rubbing the spot where she had tickle-tortured me during the movie. I felt my knee start bouncing under the table. It was… strangely gratifying to hear Emmett's concern for my sister. "But I'll ask her if she wants to come watch with me."

Emmett got a confused look on his face and reached out to touch my side lightly. "I didn't see any bruises."

Across the table from us, Rosalie and Leah exchanged looks. "Bust-ed!" Rose sing-songed, and Leah snickered.

"I was just kidding, Em." I ducked my head and laughed shyly.

Emmett smiled at me crookedly. "Sorry."

"Um," I cleared my throat, "how about I go get us another round?" I started to stand.

"Just a sec," Emmett stopped me by wrapping his hand over my forearm and running the tip of his thumb along the inside crease of my elbow. It was hardly a salacious touch, but that didn't stop the sudden spike in my heart rate or the flash of electricity that raised all the hairs on the back of my neck. Emmett leaned forward, using his grip on my forearm to tug me towards him. My eyes couldn't settle in one place as I looked at his face, noticing both the way the skin crinkled lightly at the corners of his eyes and also the slight part to his full lips before he pressed his mouth against mine in a restrained kiss.

It took me a moment to recover after he leaned back into his own chair. I blew out of a noisy breath, muttering, "Okay then…" as I got unsteadily to my feet.

When I got back to the table with a new pitcher of beer, they were talking about the best route to cross the country by car in the summer.

"Who's going on a roadtrip?" I asked.

"Me. Maybe. Home to Tennessee." Emmett shrugged. "I have to get that oil leak fixed first though."

My stomach dropped.

"When?"

"June. Right after finals."

I blinked. I hadn't even considered the idea that Emmett might go home for the summer. We'd just started dating, but the idea of being 3,000 miles away from him for three whole months felt crippling. The conversation went on without me as I wrestled with the painful memory of the "Dear John" email Peter had sent me after he'd gone to study in Britain last summer.

"God, I can't believe the school year is almost over already," Rosalie groaned.

"What are you going to do if you can't fix your SUV, Emmett?" Leah asked.

"I'll have to fly, I guess. But Edward thinks it's the crankcase valve, and he offered to help me." Emmett smiled at me warmly and put his hand on my thigh.

"Um, yeah," I managed to croak.

"Maybe we can work on it tomorrow?" he asked, squeezing my leg softly. His expression was so open, so genuine.

"Sure," I answered more strongly this time, covering his hand on my thigh with my own and linking our fingers. Emmett wanted me in his life. He was nothing like Peter.

"Call me when you're done working on the truck tomorrow. If Garrett's back by dinner time, maybe we can all grab a bite?" Rosalie offered.

"Don't you want to come over and help us, Rose?"

"Ha! No, thanks."

"Come on, Rosie," he needled her. "You're an engineer; don't you want to check out the engine?" There was obviously some long-standing joke between them.

Rosalie narrowed her eyes at him but there was a smile on her face. "I told you, Emmett. If it doesn't fly, then I'm not interested." She turned to me to explain. "I'm in Aeronautical engineering, and Emmett can't understand why I'd rather work on airplanes than cars."

Besides being a track athlete and having an eclectic taste in film, apparently Rosalie was also pretty intelligent. "Wow, that's a hard major. You couldn't pay me to take that much science and math. You must be really smart."

She laughed. "I used to think so. High school was pretty easy for me, but college has been more of a challenge. I do fine, but I work my ass off for it."

"Is that how you get a butt like that? I thought it was all that time you spend running in circles," Leah interjected, drawing circles in the condensation on her glass with one finger. Rose elbowed Leah with a smirk, then turned back to me.

"Don't journalism majors have to take some science or math credits to graduate?"

"Oh, sure. I took _Physics for You and Your Liberal Dog_," I quipped, earning some laughs. "Nah, I did take a survey class of global economics, though. I'm pretty sure there were charts and graphs and stuff – does that count?"

"Don't ask me," Leah protested. "I'm in social work. I do people, not numbers." Emmett barked a laugh into his drink. She flicked a beer coaster at him. "You know what I mean! I figure as long as I can balance my checkbook and do my taxes then I'm all set."

"Exactly!" I threw up my hands in agreement.

Rosalie quirked an eyebrow at me, clearly amused.

"Besides, global econ sounded like it would be useful reference knowledge for a career in journalism," I shrugged.

"I bet it came in handy when you were writing that piece on the student group that's lobbying for UW to stop selling Husky gear made in sweat-shops," Emmett said.

I looked at him in shock. That was one of the first articles I'd published this year; it had gone to press nearly six months ago.

A small crease appeared between Emmett's brows, and he lost his easy going smile. "Don't look so surprised, Edward. I told you I read your column."

"I'm not, I mean, I _am_…" I fumbled, caught completely off-guard. Apparently that old prejudice was still there under the surface, just waiting to pop up and bite me in the ass. On top of that, Peter had never bothered to read my articles unless pressed. I felt my face heat, swallowed awkwardly, and tried again. "I just… it's nice," I finished quietly.

Emmett angled his chair towards mine a little more, put his elbow on the table, and leaned his temple against his fist making a small bubble of privacy for us. I mirrored him instinctively, watching his face, worried I'd screwed things up again. Already. Again _and_ already. _Shit._

I waited for him to say something.

He chewed his lip for a minute, then nodded to himself once, like he'd decided something. Before I could find out what it was, Rose reached over and ran her fingers through the dark curls at the back of Emmet's neck. "We're heading out, Em. Talk to you tomorrow, 'kay?" I felt a pang of discomfort at the sight. It was a completely innocent gesture that spoke of their close camaraderie. It was just that I wanted to be doing it.

Emmett and I stood and said our goodnights to Leah and Rose. I was pleasantly surprised to be included in the round of hugs before the two young women slipped away through the maze of tables. When I turned back to Emmett, my breath caught in my throat to see the way he was looking at me.

This time when he leaned in, I knew he was going to kiss me, and I met him half way. He hooked his arm around my neck, partially shielding our faces from view. His mouth was cold and fragrant with the dark amber beer we'd been drinking as I opened to him. To anyone looking it would be obvious that we were kissing, but there was still a sense of intimacy and seclusion to our moment. I loved the fact that he didn't care where we were or who was around, but he wasn't trying to put us on display just for the sake of the spectacle it would cause.

"Mmm," Emmett hummed when we finally broke the kiss. I realized I had been fisting the front of his shirt in my hands. I shoved my hands into my pockets, and my fingers brushed over something. It was the blue, plastic mermaid from cleaning out my apartment this morning.

Emmett turned to me. "Ready to go?"

I grabbed one of the coasters from our table and slipped it into my back pocket. "Yep."

"What's that for?"

I shrugged, smiling up at him. "Just a memento."

He gave the bar a quick look around. "Of this place?"

"Nope," I shook my head at him, grinning now.

His brow furrowed at my answer and then smoothed in understanding. "Of tonight – us here together?"

"Yep."

He grinned back at me, and we started carving our way through the crowd towards the door. The cool night air was bracing and encouraged us to walk quickly. Both of our apartments were in roughly the same direction, and it wasn't until we got to the point where we'd have to go left to his place or keep going straight to get to mine that I realized we hadn't made any plans.

"Um…" I hesitated as Emmett started to turn left.

"Oh. Do you… erm… did you want to go home?" I saw that wrinkle between his eyebrows reappear before he ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.

I wanted to stay the night with him, but with his face turned down like that I couldn't read him. I couldn't assume that's what he was asking. "I… uh… no?"

"I was thinking," he continued, looking up at me sheepishly, "if you're going to help me work on my truck tomorrow anyway, maybe you should just stay over at my place tonight?"

I let out the breath I'd been holding. "Yeah. That would be more convenient," I agreed. I could feel the corner of my mouth turning up in amusement at the small farce we were playing.

"Well, okay then! Let's go." There was a glint of mischief in his eyes as he smiled at me. We turned left together and walked side by side.

A shy quiet pervaded as my thoughts turned to a long summer alone when Emmett went home to Tennessee. I didn't even realize I'd been staring at the ground for four blocks until Emmett bumped me with his shoulder.

"What was that for?" I laughed.

"We're here." He tipped his head towards his building, and I followed him up the stairs to his door.

"Why so quiet?" he asked as he opened the door, ushered me in, and then closed it behind us. I didn't know how to answer him. I followed Emmett to the kitchen where he poured us both large glasses of water. He leaned against the counter and watched me over the edge of his glass.

"Sorry, just thinking I guess." I shook my head and drained my cup of water.

Was it just yesterday that he'd appeared at the door to my room as Alice slipped out of the apartment? Could all this have happened so fast? It felt like standing at the water's edge and feeling the sand sucked out from under my feet by the retreating waves, the pull of them surprisingly strong and attractive. How easy it would be to just let myself get dragged out into the deep water.

"Hey," Emmett whispered, something about the air between us causing him to lower his voice. "Come to bed."

Shore? What shore? Who needed steady feet on the sand when his eyes looked at me like that? When his voice lulled me like soft rolling swells in the ocean?

I took the hand he offered and followed him willingly down the hall to his room.

* * *

Have you read the **Slash Backslash 2.0** contest entries? I'm excited to report that my o/s **Shooting Stars** took Best Fluff: http:/www . fan fiction . net/s/6238728/1/Shooting_Stars

And my girl **winterstale** offered up a beautifully crafted piece called **A Portrait of a Physician as a Young Man** which got to the second round of the judge's vote:

http:/www . fan fiction . net/s/6241956/1/A_Portrait_Of_the_Physician_As_a_Young_Man

Won't you give them a read? ;p


	11. Combustion, pt 1

**A/N:** Much love to my besties **winterstale**, **annetteskitty** and **JasperWhitlockHale'sMan** for their generosity and support and to **mac214** for weaving her beta magic.

* * *

My room was pitch-black when I woke, and it took me a second to realize I wasn't just dreaming I was spooned around Edward in my bed. I took a deep breath of him, and his scent registered intensely. I exhaled against the bare skin of his shoulder and clutched him closer. Warm bed, warm Edward, no alarm set because it was Sunday – it was perfect except for one thing. I shifted the flat of my hand against the bare skin of his chest and kissed his neck before drawing my arm back and rolling carefully away from him. It was my bladder that woke me up; I had to piss like a racehorse.

Staggering clumsily and still half asleep, I crossed the room, cursing quietly when I stubbed my toe on something in the dark. I shielded my eyes and flipped on the hall light, glancing back to see what I'd stumbled on. Edward's belt buckle. I snickered quietly to myself. Much as I liked seeing his clothes on my floor – and remembering how I'd taken them off him so, so slowly – maybe I needed to remember to kick them out of the way of the door next time.

I was half hard, and it took some concentration before I was finally able to relieve myself. I washed up and swished a little mouthwash. When I was done, I shuffled quietly back to bed and slipped under the covers, sidling up against his naked body again. We meshed together easily. My knees fit just right behind his; his back felt just right against my chest; my face fit just right against the back of his neck. I bent my bottom arm and tucked it up under the pillow, draping my top arm across Edward's waist. Just when I was settled in I felt him squirm.

"Mmm, hey." I nuzzled his neck and pressed a kiss there.

"Hey," he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. "What time is it?"

"Middle of the night still. Sleep, baby." I rolled into him further and tucked my nose into the space between the back of his neck and the pillow we shared. I breathed him in again. _Damn!_ He just _got _to me. Sure, other guys I'd been to bed with had smelled good, but not like this. I hadn't known Edward very long at all yet, but he just smelled familiar, right, like… an important memory just on the edge of my consciousness, or like… something I didn't even know I was waiting for. He rubbed his hand over my forearm, and I tightened my grip on him. "God, you feel good," I muttered into the pillow.

"You too," he sighed. Then he sighed again and started to pull away. "Be right back."

Grudgingly I let him roll away, reaching over to switch on the bedside lamp for him. I threw one arm over my face. "Watch out for–"

"Shit!"

"–Your belt buckle."

"Yeah, thanks. I think I found it," he answered wryly. I heard a rustle and thump that sounded an awful lot like Edward kicking his jeans into the corner and grinned. Edward's footsteps retreated, and the door to the bathroom closed. My limbs were heavy and slow, but the smell of Edward and sex lingering in the bed kept my skin on high alert, little chills racing over my chest and down my arms leaving goosebumps in their wake. I shook my head, laughing quietly at myself. Fuck, he wasn't even in the room.

But any minute now he'd be coming back to bed.

And both of us were awake.

I heard the door to the bathroom open again, and I shifted my arm off my eyes and tucked it under my head, blinking in the bright light. I realized I'd missed an awfully nice view of him walking away from me before, and I didn't want to miss watching him walk back.

I couldn't help it. The first thing I noticed was his cock. He was mostly soft though not completely, and it pointed down and away from his body, bobbing slightly as he walked towards me on those long legs. Edward wasn't bulky and wide like me – he was all lean lines and compact proportions and just goddamn gorgeous boy. My mouth was suddenly dry, and I automatically snapped it shut and swallowed.

Edward made a noise, and my eyes darted up to his face.

His hair was shiny like a new penny in the light from the bedside lamp, and it was wonky with bed-head, which was sexy and kinda cute at the same time. He came to a stop next to the side of the bed, and his eyes were wide. He'd caught me staring and, judging by his reaction, the expression on my face must have looked as greedy for him as I felt.

He ducked his head and reached up to scrub his hand over the back of his neck. I blinked heavily at the sight – the way his lean muscles stretched over his chest and ribs, the way his slim bicep flexed, the way I got just a seductive little peek at the sensitive skin and silky hairs of his underarm.

Sitting up, I leaned towards him, bracing myself on one hand while the other slipped around the small of his back and pulled his belly towards my mouth. I pressed wet, open kisses under his belly button. There was a sprinkling of freckles here I saw earlier but hadn't gotten to explore yet. I kissed them one by one. Edward sucked in a gasp each time, and I felt the muscles under his skin bunch and contract with every kiss. I could feel Edward's cock fill and lengthen, grazing my throat and the underside of my jaw with the convulsive movements of his belly.

I brushed my fingers over the rise of his ass and grinned up at him, asking with fake innocence, "Something you wanted?"

His exhale was a breathy laugh, and he dropped his eyes away from me as a rash of color spread across his cheeks.

Jesus, he looked so damn good. There was something delicious about that bashful blush, because my boy was bold and anything but chaste. In the back of my mind I wondered what put that look on his face right now, but mostly I just wanted my lips on his skin again.

I angled my head down and kissed him again just over his pubic bone, right at the base of his cock, letting it brush against my cheek as it rose. It was a wet slurp of a kiss as I sucked at his skin. Edward made a needy sound that pulsed straight through my erection and tightened in my balls. I broke the kiss with a pop and looked up at him. His eyes were closed and his jaw was slack.

Fuck, I needed to hear him make that noise again.

I bent my head down to do it again, but Edward's hands on my shoulders stopped me. "Emmett." His voice was almost pained, that needy sound still coming through as he whispered, "I want to touch you, too."

Hell if I would say no to that.

I sat up and wrapped both arms around him, manhandling him down to me and partly across my lap and kissed him soundly. "Mmm," I hummed. "You used my mouthwash."

"Yeah, I figured it was better than the alternative." He smirked. "You don't mind, right?"

"'Course not. But I don't think I would have minded either way."

He laughed at me and made a face. My eyes narrowed. "You don't believe me?" He shook his head, and I pinched his nipple in playful punishment.

"Oh, fuck…" His head whipped back as he clutched at my bicep with one hand and gripped his erection with the other.

Huh.

I guess he really liked that.

I ran my thumb deliberately over the sensitive skin and watched him squeeze himself in response. It was like cause and effect, action and reaction, and I wanted to see more. I toyed with his nipple, teasing, tugging, and scratching lightly as he panted. My attention was riveted to his hand on his cock. It was like having a remote control – flick my fingers like this, watch him buck and stroke like that.

"Emmett," he gasped, his grip biting into my arm.

I looked at his face. He was hanging on by a thread. I let up on my attack and let him catch his breath. "Sorry, baby. It's just watching you do that is so… yesterday, when you… I've never seen anyone do that… fuck, Edward. Just… _hot_." Yep, that was about as articulate as I was going to get right about now.

He flushed. "Yeah, about that…" His eyes shifted away and worried his bottom lip between his teeth.

"What?" I raked my fingers through his wonky bed-head hair. "You can tell me."

"Um… well… that wasn't exactly on the safer sex menu, if you know what I mean."

I considered that for a moment. Just the memory of watching him stroking his dick with my come made my skin flush hot with lust – there was something primal and instinctive and almost possessive in the pleasure that image inspired – but thinking more critically I could understand the concern.

"Would you, uh…" He cleared his throat and started again. "We should get tested."

I'd only been with one person since my last test, and we'd always used condoms, but it was a casual thing and who knew for sure, really? I couldn't tell if Edward was asking about getting our blood work done because he was as serious about us as I already was, or if he just needed some reassurance after that moment of exposure. Either way, I wanted him to feel safe with me; I had no reason in the world to say no.

"I was clean at my last test about six months ago." I pushed his hair away from his forehead and smiled down at him. "Tomorrow's kind of busy for me. Tuesday okay with you?"

"You'll go?" he exhaled the question.

"Of course, Edward." I kissed his temple. "We'll go together, yeah?"

He closed his eyes and nodded. "Yeah," he agreed, a small smile forming on his lips. "Yeah, that would be great." I felt his whole body melt into mine, and I sensed the direction of his intensity shift when he opened his eyes again and met mine directly.

Edward's hands crept across my chest as he rolled up to catch my mouth with his. Blunt fingernails scratched lightly over my nipples scattering pinpricks of sensation over my skin as he mumbled against my mouth, "Do you like it, too?"

I bit lightly on his lower lip before answering. "It's nice, yeah," I agreed.

"Just nice?" He rolled up further, pushing at my chest until I was lying back against the mattress and he was hovering over me. His fingers went back to teasing me, and he watched my face.

"I like it," I whispered. "I just think you're more sensitive there than I am." I pulled him down and kissed him hard. He was responsive to nipple-play in a way I hadn't encountered before; I didn't want him to think he was doing something wrong just because it didn't get me going the same way it did for him. I poured all the heat from earlier into this kiss until I had him moaning into my mouth.

He broke the kiss and nipped his way over my jaw until he was teasing my earlobe with his teeth. His breath tickled in my ear and made me shiver deliciously. I reached for his erection, palming him and fondling his balls. He groaned and shifted his focus to my chest again, kissing and licking his way to my nipple.

He scraped his teeth over me and sucked the skin into his mouth. The feeling certainly wasn't unpleasant. In fact, my chest seemed to warm in a mildly satisfying way as his actions drew more blood and sensitivity to the area, but I was feeling impatient, greedy for the good stuff. I stroked him and put my other hand on the back of his neck to draw him back up to me, but the look of intense concentration on his face made me pause.

He released the suction and then flicked his tongue across my nipple over and over, so fast it was like a damn snake tongue.

"Jesus!" I gasped.

My body was taut, every muscle tensed against the unexpected and intense sensation. I didn't even realize I had curled up off the pillow until I felt Edward's hands on my chest and hip, pressing me down into the mattress. He paused just long enough to ask, "You like that?" before starting again.

I could only grunt in response. Tingling pinprick sensations escalated to wildfire, rushing down my belly and right into my gut. My dick ached to be touched, but I squeezed Edward's instead.

_Jesus._

Apparently my brain was on repeat. But he was so hot and hard in my hand, and I _needed_ to put my mouth on him. He was kneeling on the bed perpendicular to me, and I reached for his hips and pulled them towards me roughly. "_God!_ Get over here."

He huffed a small laugh of understanding, and we squirmed and wiggled to rearrange until we were lying on our sides facing each other. I wasted no time in tasting him.

He was musky and salty and just exactly what I was craving. I gripped his ass with both hands, bobbing my head and going down on him until I was gagging, because _God_, I _was_ gagging for it! And _fuck me_, he made that needy sound again, muffled as it was with his face against the inside of my thigh.

His panting breath was warm and teasing, almost ticklish until he grabbed me at the root and took me in. I closed my eyes then; shut them tight against the onslaught, groaning around him because it was so fucking good to be buried in his mouth.

His hands were everywhere he could reach from his position – stroking long lines from my knees to my nipples, caressing, kneading, sometimes scratching just hard enough to sting. Every touch with the pads of his fingers was like dragging fire across my skin; every time his nails bit my flesh it was like striking a match inside my brain. It was different than this afternoon when he'd teased me, more like when we'd come back from the bar and he'd been so quiet and intense. I felt like he was touching me as if it was the last time he'd ever get to.

My hands had his ass in a vice grip I was so strained. Damn, I was going to combust, just spontaneously burst into flames. I was heading for complete meltdown.

But I was going to make him come first this time if it killed me.

And considering the way it felt as he moaned and whimpered while sucking so hard on me, it just might.

I forced myself to loosen my grip, squeezing and kneading his flesh as I licked and sucked at him. I moved his top leg until the back of his bent knee was under my arm. I wanted – needed – better access to more of him. I wanted to tease him and run my fingers over the crease of his ass.

I felt his tensed thighs start to shake as I started a slow circuit with the fingers of one hand. I began where my lips were locked around his shaft, traveled over his balls tracing that seam as it crossed his perineum and lead towards his entrance. My fingertips lingered over the puckered skin there, loving the way he shivered and twitched erratically in response to my touch. Then I swept my hand softly up the rise and followed the curve of his spine until the end of my reach before reversing direction and doing it all again and again and again. The torturously unhurried pace of my fingers was in direct contrast with the fire racing through my veins and the aggressive way I was devouring him.

Whiny, keening, needy sounds had become a constant from the both of us, and the trembling in Edward's thighs magnified. Suddenly he clutched at me, backing off my dick suddenly as he cried out. I sucked hard at him, pulling and drawing on him deeply as he ignited. His flavor was mild and hardly bitter at all, and this was _Edward_, and that meant I wanted every last drop.

He wheezed heavily as I savored him, shuddering a bit as I licked the sensitive skin. Then I felt him shift his weight a bit and start on me again. He took me deeper, deeper, _oh fuck_, deeper until the back of his throat was tight around my head and his lips made a seal around the base of my dick, and there was nothing else in the world like being swallowed down to the root, like feeling lips clamp down around you _right there, and oh my fucking shit! Christ! Coming coming coming!_

Time passed in a blur of tingling skin and heavy breathing. I may have passed out for a moment there. And thank God blowjobs made for no clean-up necessary, because there is no way I could walk after that.

Edward was splayed out on his back looking like he was half asleep already, even with the light from the bedside lamp shining right in his face. We were both thoroughly spent. I groaned at the effort it took to drag him up so his head was on the pillow and then reach over him to turn the switch. I collapsed onto his chest with a muffled laugh as soon as the lamp was off.

"Mmf," he hummed and patted my shoulder lazily with one hand.

"Sorry, baby," I mumbled and started to heft my weight off him.

He stopped me with his hand and yawned, "Stay."

"M'not too heavy?"

"Like it," he sighed and yawned again. Eyes already closed, I smiled against his skin and stayed right where I was.

-o-

When I woke again, the sun was up, and Edward and I had shifted so he was lying on his stomach and I was draped across his back. He was still sound asleep. The fingers of one hand were numb and when I tried to wiggle them I realized they were laced with his. I ran my thumb over his a couple of times and then tried to extricate myself without waking him. He stirred as I shifted my weight off him though, and apparently my morning wood was poking him in the hip because he reached between us to palm me.

"Don't you ever get enough?" he groaned, but there was a laugh in his voice that belied his supposed aggravation.

I opened my mouth wide and took the flesh of his shoulder lightly between my teeth, shaking my head a little and growling quietly. He chuckled and rolled away, pulling the blanket up to his neck and covering his head with a pillow. "Just ten more minutes," he mumbled drowsily.

I laughed and smacked his ass through the covers before sitting up and stretching. My phone beeped from its spot on the nightstand. I rubbed my hands over my face and yawned before picking it up. There was a text from Rose.

_**It's up. Call me after u read it.**_

The article.

I'd almost forgotten. I threw off the covers and jumped up, shivering a little as I grabbed some track pants from my dresser and last night's t-shirt from the floor. With one last backward glance at Edward, I shuffled out to my computer desk in the living room. I wiggled the mouse as my butt landed on the swivel chair in front of my docked laptop, putting my phone on the desk next my keyboard. Part of me wanted to delay, maybe check my email first, but I knew Rosie would be waiting for my call, and putting it off wouldn't lessen the flip-flop of my stomach. My emotions were a chaotic jumble – pride warred with shame, self-righteousness with doubt, courage with cowardice. Apparently I'd just come out to the world in my school newspaper; the electronic bits were out there now, and there was no way to get them back.

I clicked the shortcut on my desktop that took me straight to _The Daily_ online, and then clicked again on the link to _Sports_. I'd navigated this path a hundred times, checking scores and skimming headlines, but the nerves in my belly contradicted the familiarity of the actions. I fidgeted anxiously as I waited for the page to load then scanned the headlines just as impatiently.

_March madness: Bracket Breakdown_

_Roth Eyeing School Record_

_Huskies fall, 10-4, to BYU in Provo_

_UW men's tennis team back at home to face EWU_

Fuck. There it is.

_**The Art of Being a Good Sport  
**__Decathlon athlete strives to master his personal potential, on and off the field_

_By Edward Cullen_

_Emmett McCarty wants you to think he's just an average guy who plays his part for Huskies track and field._

_While it's true he's not the fastest man on the track, spend one meet watching him churn through the ten events that make up decathlon, and it's easy to see he's still a powerhouse of endurance, strength, agility and speed. At last weekend's spring invitational meet at Portland State University, McCarty scored consistently well across all ten events, resulting in a second place ranking for the meet. That's far from average. In fact, McCarty has placed in one of the top three decathlete slots at six out of eight meets to date this season._

_McCarty's 68ft 9in throw in the meet's shot put event earned him PAC-10 and NCAA records. The attempt bested points leader Thomas McCune by more than two feet and gave even the PSU home crowd something to cheer about. The length of two school busses parked end to end is a long way to heave a 16 lb metal ball._

_McCarty's peers say he doesn't let his achievements go to his head. "Emmett puts his whole heart into everything he does," says friend and teammate Rosalie Hale, "and I think that accounts for a lot of his success. But you'll never hear about it from him. He's just really down to earth."_

_Bob Banner, head coach of the Huskies Track and Field team seems to agree. "Emmett is an inspiration to his fellow teammates. He excels, yes, but not without toil. He strives to learn from his shortcomings, and he takes his losses in stride. He receives praise with grace and offers it with generosity. He is one of those men with a humble yet indomitable spirit, and it is my great pleasure to know him."_

_Of his fellow decathletes, Husky teammates and opponents alike, McCarty has this to say, "Despite being from different schools, it's kind of like we're all on the same team, just guys trying to improve ourselves, to beat our own records."_

_The respect the 21 year-old Tennessee native shows to his colleagues on the track is well-known. Quil Ateara, decathlete for the PSU Vikings, remarked, "It's always a blast to compete against Emmett. He's a challenging opponent, but he keeps it fun and friendly on the field. Win or lose, he always seems to have a kind word for everybody." Fellow Husky Garrett O'Connell notes, "Emmett has a knack for knowing how to push himself to a personal best without losing perspective. I admire his ability to balance classes, track and free time. He's a great sportsman, and I'm glad to call him a close friend."_

_With a major in Urban Design, McCarty's academic career is focused on city planning for sustainability and for ecological and economic vitality, all served with a side of social justice. His third year projects have included designs for low-income housing, improvements in public transit, and researching ways to include urban organic food gardening in local food banks and soup kitchens._

_This social awareness shows up in his personal life as well. For the past two years, McCarty has volunteered in the mentoring program at the Q Center. The Q Center is a student union facility with a mission to support LGBTQ students and "achieve a socially-just campus," according to their website and university-approved charter._

_Emmett McCarty hopes to bring that support to UW athletes by facilitating a new student group – the Queer Athletes Alliance. The group will be open to LGBTQ athletes and allies for discussion and socializing. A kick-off meeting featuring student speakers and a pizza social will be held this Thursday, March 25__th__ in the Q Center conference room from 6-8pm._

_According to McCarty, decathlon is an event that "requires one person to master their personal potential." McCarty's personal philosophy for decathlon seems to be working for him, on and off the field._

The article finished with an action shot of me just at the peak of my spin, right as the shot left my hand. _Emmett McCarty, junior, makes personal record with shot put distance 68ft 9in; takes 1__st__ place in the event and 2__nd__ overall in decathlon at PSU on Sunday March 14__th__, 2010. Photo credit Ben Cheney._

I read the whole thing through twice before it started to make sense to me. It was like no other profile piece I'd read before. The things Edward had written about me felt like so much more than I deserved… I could hardly understand them on a rational level. They struck right in the gut, and there was a lump in my throat. The fact that I had just gone public was momentarily taking a back seat to everything else I was feeling.

I reached blindly for my phone and dialed Rosie. She was number three on my speed dial after Nessie and my folks.

"Hey, Bear. That's some article you got there." I could hear a smile in her voice.

"Uh… yeah. I'm kinda blown away…" I trailed off, still stunned.

"You're a helluva man, Emmett, and I'm so proud of you."

My throat got tight again, and it got hard to speak for a moment. I coughed to clear it. "Thanks, Rosie. For everything."

She sniffled a little, then laughed at herself and struck off on a tangent. "I got a text from Garrett last night."

That got my attention. If she'd been texting with Garrett after we'd been drinking at the bar last night then they were probably flirting again. They had been interested in each other for nearly two years now, and it was amazing to me they had never gotten together. Rose said Garrett was just a big flirt, and she didn't want to screw up their friendship by getting involved unless he was serious. Garrett said he thought Rose enjoyed the chase and she'd get bored with him as soon as he let her catch him.

I thought they were pretty perfect for each other and just too scared to admit it.

"He said he's not going to get back until late tonight so we won't see him for dinner." Her tone was nonchalance layered over disappointment.

"That sucks. Maybe the four of us can get together for dinner tomorrow night instead."

"Yeah. Hey, we could try that Ethiopian place he was talking about."

Ethiopian food? Rose was an adventurous girl, but she'd sounded so skeptical when Garrett was telling us about this restaurant he'd heard about down in the Central District. Yep, they were definitely flirting again.

"Hm. Well, I'll ask Edward if he's interested. You know me – I'll try just about anything once."

"Much to your mama's dismay," she teased. I laughed, remembering when Mama had come out to visit once and Rosie and I had tried to take her out to sushi for lunch. The taste of raw fish had not impressed her no matter how artfully arranged by the talented sushi chef.

It felt good to laugh together, and I felt myself coming back down to earth a little. The reality of the article's announcement started to sink in.

In the quiet that followed our laughter, Rose asked, "Are you worried about how things are going to go?"

"Honestly? I'm worried about all kinds of things." I picked at the loose edge of a White Stripes sticker stuck to my desk. "What if no one shows up to the meeting? What if a bunch of people show up? What if people on the team can't get over it?" I took a deep breath and blew it out noisily, hitting my head against the heel of my palm a few times. "I don't really know what I'm doing, you know? What if I'm not ready to handle all of this?" God, I sounded whiny.

"Listen to me, Em. There are a lot of people who love you and will stand by you through this. You don't have to do it all alone, okay? You just be your awesome fucking self, and anybody who doesn't like it can kiss both our asses."

She was using her take-charge voice, and it made me smile to hear how feisty and protective she could be.

"I swear I will throat punch that pigeon-fucker Alec if he tries to pull any shit with you."

"R-Rose!" I barked out a startled laugh.

"I don't care if he's got Felix backing him up or not. I'll kick Felix in the 'nads. You know the bigger they are, the harder they fall."

That, however, sobered me quickly. Felix was an intimidating dude, and that was saying a lot coming from a big guy like me.

"Rosalie," I admonished, "Don't mess with Felix. I'm serious."

"I _know_," she huffed. "I'm just venting." The amusement returned to her voice. "And trying to make you laugh."

"You succeeded, babydoll."

"I did, didn't I?" I could hear the grin in her voice and was not terribly surprised to find myself wearing one to match. "Now go see your boy-toy and get dirty under the hood together."

"Mm, now that does sound good. Gotta go wake him up."

"Ha! I knew it!"

"Bye, Rose."

"Buh-bye…" she snickered in return. I snapped my phone shut and headed back to my room.

Edward was exactly where I'd left him. I crawled onto the bed and nudged him gently. "Wake up, sleepy head." He didn't move. I nudged him again, a little more forcefully this time. "Come on, Edward," I wheedled. "Wake up."

He grunted, rolling onto his back, but kept the pillow over his face, mumbling, "Oh God, you're a morning person, aren't you?"

"Yep. Most mornings I'm at practice or out for a run or something by now. So get a move on, lazy."

He lifted the pillow just enough to peek out from under it. "What's for breakfast?"

"Uh… probably just cereal."

He let the pillow drop. "You're going to have to do better than that."

"Too good for cold cereal, huh?"

The pillow nodded. "A guy has to keep up his strength around you."

"I can't believe I'm about to bribe you to get out of my bed. This is all kinds of wrong."

I yanked all the covers off him in one swipe, and he yelped, throwing the pillow at me.

"I'm up, I'm up," he laughed, stumbling out of bed. "And that hardly constitutes a bribe, you goof."

I put my hands on his waist and steered him towards the bathroom. "How about this… long, hot shower, auto-parts store, and then Voula's for coffee, eggs and hash browns?"

His grin was brilliant, the kind of smile that did things to me – weird, wonderful things. "Now you're talking."

.

.

.

* * *

I've contributed an Alice/Jasper one-shot called **Silence Speaks** to the **Fandom for Preemies fundraiser**. Won't you join me in donating a few dollars to the March of Dimes? Read all about it here: http : / fandomforpreemies (dot) blogspot (dot) com/p/how-to-help (dot) html

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